University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


MEGDA 


/r// 


MEGDA 


BY 
"FORGET-ME-NOT" 

(EMMA    DUNHAM    KELLEY) 


BOSTON 

JAMES     H.     EARLE 

178    WASHINGTON    STREET 


COYPRIGHT,    1891 

BY  JAMES  H.  EARLE 
BOSTON 


WITH 

DEEPEST   JOY   AND   THANKFULNESS 

I  DEDICATE    THIS    VOLUME 
TO 

MY   WIDOWED  MOTHER 

TO    WHOSE    PATIENT    LOVE    AND    UNWEARIED    DEVOTION 

DURING  YEARS   OF   HARD   STRUGGLE   AND   SELF-SACRIFICE    I   OWE  ALL 

THAT   I   AM   AND  ALL  THAT    HOPE    HOLDS    BEFORE 

ME    IN    THE    FUTURE 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 


I 



9 

II 

.M          

16 

g 

27 

IV 



37 

V 

•               »••*** 

51 

VI 

s         

63 

VII 



72 

VIII 

•          •           • 

89 

A  SURPRISE 
OUT  IN  THE  STORM 
MEG  AT  HOME 
ETHEL'S  ABSENCE 

A    MEMENTO 
COMPARING    NOTES 
THE    LOST    ESSAY 
A   DISCOVERY 

IX 

BEHIND   THE   CHURCH   DOORS  • 

X 

IN   THE   VESTRY  

V 


vi 

CONTENTS' 

XI 

THE   ENTERTAINMENT 

t        •        • 

.     .     146 

XII 

166 

XIII 

THE   SENIOR   CLASS 

.     .     185 

XIV 

A   NEW   HAPPINESS 

197 

XV 

AN   ANNOUNCEMENT 

215 

XVI 

XVII 

MEG'S  TROUBLE 

236 

XVIII 

COMMENCEMENT   DAY 

251 

XIX 

262 

XX 

A.   VISIT 

277 

XXI 

A.   WEDDING 

299 

XXII 

FOY   AND   SORROW 

.     .     316 

XXIII 

V    REST 

342 

XXIV 

tfRS.    STANLEY 

359 

XXV 

VFTER   YEARS 

•               •               •               « 

376 

MEGDA. 


A  SURPRISE. 

HAVE  you  heard  the  news,  Meg?" 
« What  news?" 

"Why,  of  Ethel  Lawton  rising  for  prayers  at  the 
meeting  last  Thursday  night." 

Meg  Randal  opened  wide  a  pair  of  lovely  dark  eyes, 
and  raised  two  small,  white  hands  in  surprise. 

"Do  my  ears  deceive  me,  or  do  I  hear  aright?"  she 
murmured,  in  hollow  tones.  "Tell  me  once  again, 
that  there  may  be  no  mistake." 

Laurie  Ray  laughed  and  nodded  her  sunny  head. 
"  Yes,  Meg,  she  did;  apd  so  did  some  one  else ;  guess 
who." 

"Impossible !  Keep  me  not  in  suspense,  but  reveal 
it  to  me  instantly." 

"Well,  then,  prepare  yourself  for  the  shock,  Meg  — 
Maude  Leonard ! " 


10  MEGDA. 


It  was  really  comical  to  see  the  mischievous  look 
on  Meg's  face  change  to  one  of  astonishment,  incre- 
dulity, contempt  and  laughter  intermingled.  Laurie 
threw  her  head  back,  and  a  merry  peal  broke  the  quiet 
of  the  large  school-room.  A  group  of  girls  standing 
at  one  of  the  windows  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room  conversing  together  in  low  tones,  turned  their 
heads  for  a  moment  toward  the  place  from  which  the 
merry  sound  came,  then  looked  at  each  other  and 
smiled. 

•"Meg  is  getting  off  some  of  her  nonsense,"  said  a 
tall,  fair-haired  girl,  who  was  none  other  than  Ethel 
Lawton.  "What  a  happy  girl  she  is,  and  so  lovable." 

The  other  girls  murmured  assent,  and  continued 
their  talking. 

"  I  would  give  considerable  for  your  picture,  Meg," 
said  Laurie,  still  laughing.  "Such  a  combination  of 
expressions  was  never  before  seen  on  a  human  coun- 
tenance, I  verily  believe.  One  might  call  it  a  mixed- 
pickles  expression,  if  you  only  looked  sour." 

Meg  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  made  a  little  out- 
ward motion  with  her  hands  —  a  habit  she  had  when 
she  could  not  find  words  to  express  her  feelings. 

"  You  do  not  mean  for  me  to  understand  that  you 
are  utterly  at  a  loss  for  words,  Meg?"  said  Laurie. 
"Such  an  idea  is  not  conceivable." 


A  SURPRISE.  11 


"Don't,  Laurie,"  said  Meg,  the  shade  of  contempt 
spreading  itself  over  her  face,  covering  over  and  hid- 
ing all  the  other  shades  of  expression.  "  The  idea  of 
Maude  Leonard  —  well  there!  I'll  say  no  more;  only 
if  she  is  a  specimen  of  a  Christian,  all  I  can  say  is, 
deliver  me  from  the  misfortune  of  being  one,"  and 
Meg  gave  another  shrug  of  her  shapely  shoulders  and 
walked  up  the  aisle  to  her  desk. 

Laurie  hastened  after  her.  "But  what  do  you  say 
of  Ethel,  Meg?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  of  Ethel,"  replied  Meg, 
her  voice  softening.  "  She  is  good  enough  for  all  I 
know;  she  has  never  copied  definitions  in  her  note- 
book and  gotten  a  hundred  per  cent  in  consequence, 
or  given  out  ten  in  deportment  when  she  should  have 
said  4  imperfect.'  The  only  thing  I  wonder  at  in  her 
case  is,  that  a  girl  whose  parents  are  as  wealthy  as 
hers,  and  who  has  only  to  open  her  lips,  and  the 
world,  or  a  good  part  of  it,  is  hers,  should  care  about 
religion.  Dear  me !  only  give  me  all  the  money  I 
want  to  spend,  and  I  would  be  quite  well  satisfied 
with  a  thousand  a  year,  and  I  would  guarantee  perfect 
happiness  for  myself"  —and  Meg  took  up  her  book 
of  "John  Halifax,  Gentleman,"  but  started  when  she 
felt  a  light  hand  laid  on  her  arm.  A  fair,  sweet  face 
bent  over  her  own. 


12  MEGDA. 


"There  is  something  more  than  money  necessary 
to  true  happiness,  Girlie,"  said  a  low,  quiet  voice. 

Meg's  cheek,  usually  so  pale,  grew  quite  pink,  but 
she  laughed  lightly. 

"That  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  say,  Ethel,"  she 
replied,  clasping  the  hand  that  rested  on  her  shoulder. 
"But  methinks  you  would  be  of  the  same  opinion  as 
myself,  if  you  were  obliged  to  count  every  penny  and 
turn  it  over  and  over  again  before  making  up  your 
mind  whether  you  could  spend  it  or  not.  I  tell  you, 
Ethel,  when  I  get  through  this  school  of  education  I 
am  going  to  enter  the  one  of  matrimony,  just  about 
as  quickly  as  I  can,  and  you  may  be  very  sure  that 
the  all-important  man  will  be  a  rich  one." 

Meg's  laughing  face  was  lifted  to  her  friend's  grave 
one,  but  although  she  was  laughing  there  was  a  cer- 
tain earnestness  in  her  voice  that  convinced  Ethel  that 
she  meant  every  word  she  said  —  for  the  time,  at  least. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  talk  in  this  way,  Girlie. 
You  are  capable  of  great  things.  Madam  has  often 
told  you  so,  you  know,  and  although  you  say  things  a 
great  many  times  just  to  hear  yourself  talk,  yet  I  do 
not  like  to  hear  you  say  such  a  thing  as  that,  evea  in 
fun." 

"Oh,  but  I  am  not  in  fun,  Ethel;  I  am  in  dead 
earnest,  Ask  Laurie." 


A   SURPRISE.  13 


"Ask  Laurie  nothing,"  exclaimed  that  young  lady, 
elegantly.  "  I  have  known  this  young  lady,"  she  con- 
tinued, pointing  her  finger  at  Meg,  with  a  comical 
look  of  despair,  "for  five  and  ten  years,  as  the  old  sea- 
captain  says,  and  I  do  not  know  her  yet.  I  would 
advise  you,  Ethel,  not  to  undertake  the  task  of  reading 
her,  for  you  will  find  it  a  difficult,  if  not  a  hopeless 
one." 

Ethel  sat  down  and  took  one  of  Meg's  perfect  little 
hands  in  her  own.  Meg's  hand  was  her  one  source  of 
pride,  and  it  would  almost  seem  as  if  she  were  justi- 
fied in  this  pride.  Such  a  delicate,  white,  slender, 
dimpled  hand  as  it  was !  Meg  looked  on  smilingly 
while  Ethel  turned  it  over,  palm  upward. 

"  Shall  I  read  your  fortune,  Girlie?"  asked  Ethel. 

"If  it  pleases  you,  fair  Sibyl,"  returned  Meg. 

Laurie  leaned  over  with  a  look  of  deep  interest  on 
her  pretty  face;  she  always  enjoyed  anything  of 
this  nature.  "Don't  faint,  Laurie,"  murmured  Meg, 
concernedly. 

"I  see,"  began  Ethel  in  a  low,  earnest  voice,  that 
belied  the  smile  on  her  face,  "a  happy,  merry,  laugh- 
ing girl.  She  is  happy,  she  is  merry,  she  is  laughing ; 
but  under  all  the  happiness,  all  the  merriment,  all  the 
laughter,  runs  a  vein  of  deep,  earnest  feeling ;  a  wish 
to  be  good,  to  be  true,  to  be  noble.  A  vague,  unde- 


14  MEGDA. 


finable  feeling  it  may  be  just  now  when  she  is  so 
young  and  light-hearted  and  careless,  but  it  is  there 
and  some  day  it  will  make  itself  known  to  her  and  fill 
her  whole  being  so  that  she  will  know  no  peace  and 
happiness  until  the  longing  is  satisfied,  and  she  proves 
herself  worthy  of  the  noble  feelings  and  lofty  desires 
that  her  nature  has  been  endowed  with.  I  see  she 
is  a  girl  beloved  by  everybody.  She  is  the  darling 
of  a  widowed  mother's  heart,  the  pride  of  a  loving 
brother  and  sister,  the  comfort  and  never-ending 
source  of  delight  to  all  who  know  her.  She  has  a 
great  capability  for  making  friends ;  all  who  know  her 
love  her. 

"  For  this  reason,  and  also  because  it  is  her  nature 
to  be  light-hearted  and  gay,  she  is  apt  to  forget  that 
the  good  Father  who  has  endowed  her  with  these 
blessings  —  this  bright,  happy  nature,  this  faculty  for 
making  friends,  the  rare  accomplishments  of  mind  and 
body  —  will  one  day  demand  them  all  from  her  hands 
with  the  question,  'What  have  you  done  with  the 
talents  I  gave  you  ? '  She  does  not  mean  to  be  care- 
less, she  is  never  irreverant,  she  has  great  respect  for 
old  age.  She  is  only  a  little  thoughtless,  a  little  car- 
ried away  by  her  own  light-heartedness.  She  has  yet 
to  learn  the  sad  lesson  of  Life,  perhaps  she  will  learn 
it  with  many  tears  and  bitter  heart-aches;  perhaps 


A   SURPRISE.  15 


her  soul  will  be  drawn  to  its  Maker  through  a  deep 
appreciation  of  His  mercies  to  her.  But  whether  by 
smiles  or  by  tears,  by  sorrow  or  by  happiness,  this 
dear  heart  will  be  laid  at  the  feet  of  the  crucified 
One.  It  must  be  given  to  the  Father  of  all  mercies." 

Ethel  stopped  and  looked  up  into  the  girlish  faces. 
Laurie's  was  very  sober  and  thoughtful.  Meg's  lips 
were  parted,  and  there  was  an  earnest,  troubled  look 
in  her  dark  eyes;  only  for  a  moment,  though;  the 
instant  she  caught  Ethel's  gaze  she  laughed  and  drew 
away  her  hand. 

"Quite  a  palmist,  Ethel,"  she  said,  lightly.  "You 
ought  to  make  a  profession  of  your  talent,  and  send 
all  the  money  it  brings  you  out  to  the  poor  heathen ; 
or,  better  still,  give  it  to  some  poor  heathen  of  your 
own  country  and  color.  I  would  take  it  and  thank 
you  kindly."  Then  seeing  how  grave  and  pained 
Ethel  really  looked,  she  laid  her  willful  head  against 
her  friend's  shoulder,  and  patted  her  cheek  with  her 
little  hand. 

"Don't  look  so  curious,  Ethel  mine;  I  am  not 
worth  troubling  this  dear  head  of  yours  about." 

Before  Ethel  could  answer,  the  bell  rang  for  les- 
sons, and  in  a  few  moments,  thoughts  both  trivial  and 
serious,  were  swallowed  up  in  the  process  of  translat- 
ing, transposing  and  analyzing. 


16  MEGDA. 


II. 

OUT  IN  THE  STORM. 

A  WINDY,  rainy,  October  night.     Meg,  hurrying 
along  on  her  way  home  from   Laurie's,  where 
she  had  been  since  school  closed,  now  laughed  and 
now  scolded  to  herself,  as  the  wind  blew  her  umbrella, 
first  to  one  side,  then  to  the  other. 

"Well,  I  may  as  well  put  the  poor  old  thing  down," 
she  said,  at  last,  half  aloud;  "the  wind  proves  too 
much  for  it,  and  my  temper,  too.  How  it  does  blow ! 
I'll  pull  my  gossamer  hood  over  my  hat,  and  then  I'll 
bid  defiance  to  both  wind  and  rain.  Oh,  dear,  I  sup- 
pose I  must  go  down  to  the  hall  to-night,  if  it  does 
rain  pitchforks  and  blow  enough  to  take  one's  head 
off.  Being  accomplished  may  have  its  advantages, 
but  it  also  has  its  disadvantages.  One  is  expected  to 
do  everything,  and  go  everywhere,  and  then  if  one 
protests,  why,  the  terrible  question  is  asked,  'For 
what  were  your  talents  given  to  you  ? '  I  declare, 
sometimes  I  almost  feel  that  I  would  willingly  change 


OUT  IN  THE  STORM.  17 

places  with  old  Betty  Burnside.  She  says,  'The 
women  say  I  don't  know  nothin',  the  men  say  I  don't 
know  nothin',  but  I  say  I  do  know  nothin'.'  Well,  if 
she  knows  nothing,  then  nothing  can  be  expected  of 
her;  that  must  be  one  consolation.  I  beg  your 
pardon ! " 

Meg,  hurrying  along  with  her  head  down,  the  better 
to  fight  her  way  against  the  wind  as  well  as  to  pro- 
tect her  face  from  the  heavy  drops  of  rain,  ran  against 
somebody  as  she  turned  the  corner  to  the  street  on 
which  she  lived. 

A  pleasant,  manly  voice  answered:  "The  fault  was 
entirely  mine  —  I  beg  your  pardon.  Why,  Miss  Ran- 
dal, is  it  possible  you  are  out  on  such  a  night  as 
this!" 

The  gentleman  had  stopped  in  his  surprise,  and 
Meg  also  stood  still;  that  is,  as  still  as  she  could, 
considering  how  hard  the  wind  was  trying  to  propel 
her  onward. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Stanley.  Yes,  I  am  out,  but 
the  wind  seems  to  know  that  it  is  time  I  was  at 
home,  and  is  doing  its  best  to  send  me  there." 

The  gentleman  laughed.  "Allow  me  to  offer  my 
services  in  helping  you  to  get  the  better  of  this 
troublesome  wind.  Will  you  accept  my  arm  ?  " 

Meg  smiled  slyly  to  herself  as  she  tucked  her  little 


JTEGItJL 


s  tf:r-i  ~  ket; 
~_ ~  . '.~'i  s  ~i  Ai7~t~  nir 
off,  fiQgrf  op  the  tittle 

£.*  i.  n  i    *"-   i  .1  "^ 
^  ^"  ~~ 


t  •""-    7-'-:."I  ".  .".;     '.'.     51    :^LT11    ~^1.    1 1  I  J  1_111IL  1 1     1.5     -'--i     1-- - 


street  length  together.  Then  Mr.  Stanley  preyed 
sncfa  a  meny  r«M»|ianM»^  "not  a  tit  KVg  2  minister,*1' 
thought  Meg;  lie  had  such  at  pl^»"nff  genial 
5."  i  ";-r.v;r.  "it"."  7i.55ti  _iitr  lit  :i  i"r  rt""-' 
posts  with  which  the  street  was  honored  and  she 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  her  laughing  eyes,  the 
.eyes  that  looked  down  into  her  own  had  such  a  kind, 
meny  light  in  diem  that  Meg  was  reaHy  charmed. 

"  His  eyes  are  dark  blue  and  I  thought  they  were 
black.  He  isn't  at  all  handsome,  hut  he  has  a  strong, 
good  face,  and  I  like  him — I  really  da  Somehow  or 
other  I  fed  that  I  shaD  never  forget  this  walk.  Oh, 
de-a-r!" 

Her  foot  had  caught  in  her  long,  wind-blown  gossa- 


orr  iy  THE  STORM. 


rner,  but  before  she  could  fall  a  strong  arm 

itr  liiiti  itr  sifelv  ::  i.tr  :™:   in  :r.       .  Lit::    :i.nt   i 

S:i-".ty  5    iiinz     v.-iiirlei   ::    rr.ii'.y   nun-    in.    ::^i. 
blew  it  up  and  blew  it  down,  blew  it  on  one  side;  blew 

".t^    ::   i-siit    :  .:       7'r 
passed  over  Mr.  Stanley's 


face,    while   watching    and    trying    to    prevent    die 

fesirj  :::•:-    ::'    his   ir:;zr:;      n-    :T    i-erier 

riian  described.     He  night  have  saved  the 

had  he  had  the  free  use  of  both  hands,  but  he  stffl 

held  Meg  firmly  with  one  arm. 

a,  Mr.  Stanley!"  said  Meg,  stifling  her  desire 
to  laugh  by  a  strong  effort,  "how  sorry  I  am;  your 
_rr.  iTr-i  -i  r-iir.ti 

H-   :_—e£   iis  :i:t    r.usr.ti      .:v    :...    t:-:tr:::-    :  _: 
langhin  ^  ffrpil,  to  her. 

-  Yoa  need  not  be  sorry,  Miss  Randal;  the  umbreDa 
can  easily  be   replaced,   and   the 
afforded  both  of  us  more  than 
loss.     It   looks    thoroughly  beaten, 

"_i 


But  just  then  the  wind — and  it  seemed  as  if  it 

i~-  r_s:  ::.^.   r.ii   -.v::kt_   s_;-    fzs:r_::::i 
bad  hovered  around  and  above  them  to  listen  to 


20  MEGDA. 


they  had  to  say  about  it,  and  having  heard  and  been 
made  angry  at  the  light  way  in  which  its  work  had 
been  spoken  of  —  now  came  back  with  renewed  force 
to  show  its  displeasure  of  such  treatment.  It  seized 
Mr.  Stanley's  "  Derby,"  lifted  it  lightly  from  his  head, 
whirled  it  provokingly  before  his  face  for  a  moment 
as  if  challenging  him  for  a  race,  and  then  sent  it  on 
its  way  down  the  street. 

Mr.  Stanley  stood,  irresolute,  for  a  moment,  then 
looked  uncertainly  at  Meg.  She  was  literally  con- 
vulsed with  laughter,  but  she  pointed  with  her  hand 
to  the  dancing  hat  and  gasped  out,  "  Run  after  it,  do ; 
never  mind  me." 

Mr.  Stanley  needed  no  second  bidding,  but  dropped 
his  umbrella  and  ran.  And  what  a  chase  that  hat 
gave  him !  Only  those  who  have  indulged  in  the 
same  exercise  can  have  any  idea  of  the  "  pleasures  of 
the  chase."  Now  on  this  side  of  the  road,  now  on 
that,  now  rolling  over  and  over  in  front  of  him,  mak- 
ing him  feel  sure  that  he  has  but  to  put  his  hand 
down  and  the  victory,  in  the  shape  of  the  hat,  is  his, 
then  suddenly  taking  a  new  course  and  flying  along 
at  a  great  speed,  then  changing  its  mind  again  and 
turning  back,  at  which  time  Mr.  Stanley  coming  up, 
panting,  close  behind,  puts  his  foot  squarely  into  it 
and  almost  measures  his  length  on  the  ground. 


OUT  IN  THE  STORM.  21 

When  he  straightens  himself  and  turns  "to  pick 
the  hat  up,"  lo  and  behold,  it  is  a  dozen  yards  or  so 
up  the  street  in  the  direction  from  which  it  started. 
As  Mr.  Stanley,  breathless  but  eager  and  determined, 
turned  to  pursue  the  hat,  he  collided  with  Meg,  who, 
still  laughing  convulsively,  had  also  joined  in  the 
chase.  The  result  was,  they  threw  each  other  down, 
Meg  having  the  added  humiliation  of  knowing  that 
she  was  sitting  squarely  on  the  hat. 

Mr.  Stanley  was  upon  his  feet  in  an  instant,  profuse 
apologies  on  his  lips,  his  hands  stretched  out  to  help 
her.  Alas,  proud  Meg !  not  noticing  the  proffered 
hands,  buried  her  face  in  her  own  and  did  not  move. 

Mr.  Stanley  grew  frightened.  "  Are  you  hurt,  Miss 
Randal  ?  Have  you  sprained  your  ankle  ? " 

"Not  my  ankle,  Mr.  Stanley,"  replied  Meg,  hyster- 
ically; "but  I  am  much  afraid — ,1  —  have  —  sprained 
—  your — hat,"  and  she  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  not 
daring  to  lift  her  face  from  her  hands. 

The  next  moment  she  was  undecided  whether  to 
feel  indignant,  or  to  join  in  the  hearty  burst  of  laugh- 
ter that  Mr.  Stanley,  after  one  hard  struggle  to  con- 
trol, indulged  in ;  but  when  she,  too,  looked  at  the 
crushed,  misshapen  thing  which  he  picked  from  the 
ground  and  held  up  before  them,  the  comicality  of  the 
whole  thing  burst  upon  her,  and  her  clear,  light  laugh, 


22  MEGDA. 


rang  out  on  the  air ;  and  so  these  two  very  dignified 
young  people  stood  there  in  the  dark  street,  with  the 
rain  beating  down  upon  them  and  the  wind  howling 
around  them,  and  laughed  until  they  were  both  fain 
to  stop  for  very  lack  of  breath. 

That  one  little  mishap  did  more  toward  drawing 
these  two  young  people  together,  and  making  them 
feel  indeed  like  friends,  than  weeks  and  months  of 
ordinary  intercourse  could  have  done.  Mr.  Stanley's 
easy  way  of  making  Meg  feel  that  the  whole  thing 
had  afforded  him  pleasure,  put  her  completely  at  her 
ease  and  added  much  to  the  respect  she  already  had 
for  him;  while  he  on  his  part,  was  most  favorably 
impressed  with  the  laughing,  light-hearted  girl,  who, 
however  much  she  laughed  and  chattered,  never  once 
went  beyond  the  bounds  of  propriety,  but  proved  her- 
self to  be  as  lady-like  in  behavior  as  she  was  in 
appearance. 

Mr.  Stanley  poked  the  hat  here  and  smoothed  it 
there,  but  for  all  his  efforts,  in  which  he  was  assisted 
by  brilliant  suggestions  from  Meg,  the  hat  still 
refused  to  go  back  to  its  former  shape,  or  indeed,  to 
any  shape  whatever.  He  put  it  on  his  head,  but  it 
was  determined  not  to  stay  there  unless  it  could  rest 
itself  on  his  ear;  this  of  course  it  could  not  be 
allowed  to  do. 


OUT  IN  THE  STORM.  23 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Stanley  gravely,  "it  will  have 
to  be  tied  on.  Do  you  happen  to  have  a  ribbon 
about  your  neck,  Miss  Randal?  Young  ladies  do 
wear  ribbon  about  their  necks  sometimes,"  he  added 
confidently. 

Meg  laughed  merrily.  "Yes,  I  have  one,"  she 
answered,  fully  alive  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  whole 
thing,  "and  I  will  loan  it  to  you  with  the  greatest  of 
pleasure ;  I  will  even  tie  it  on  for  you,  if  you  would 
like  to  have  me." 

"  Oh,  will  you  ?  You  are  very  kind.  I  woul,d  like  to 
have  you,  for  I  can't  tie  a  bow-knot,  and  if  I  tie  it  in  a 
hard  one  I  might  have  to  appear  with  it  -on  at  the  tea- 
table,  and  that  might  cause  remarks." 

Meg  standing  on  tip-toe,  passed  the  band  of  delicate 
pink  ribbon  over  his  hat,  which  Mr.  Stanley  held  on 
with  both  hands,  and  tied  it  in  a  very  pretty  bow 
under  his  chin. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Randal." 

"You  are  entirely  welcome." 

Mr.  Stanley  gravely  offered  his  arm,  Meg  as  gravely 
took  it,  and  they  commenced  their  homeward  walk 
once  more. 

"Suppose  we  should  meet  some  one,"  said  Meg. 

"  I  must  confess  I  am  not  desirous  of  meeting  one 
of  my  deacons,  or  indeed,  any  of  my  parishioners," 


24  MEGDA. 


replied  Mr.  Stanley  with  a  laughing  gleam  in  his  blue 
eyes.  "If  we  only  had  an  umbrella." 

"Why,  we  have,"  exclaimed  Meg,  holding  up  her 
own. 

"  A  very  brilliant  thought,  Miss  Randal.  Suppose 
we  raise  it;  it  will  be  some  protection  if  we  should 
happen  to  meet  any  one." 

The  umbrella  was  raised  and  they  continued  their 
walk  without  any  further  interruption.  As  they 
entered  Meg's  gate  Mr.  Stanley  said  rather  hesitat- 
ingly as  if  fearing  that  what  he  was  about  to  ask 
might  be  denied  him  : 

"Miss  Randal,  I  am  very  certain  that  this  enjoya- 
ble walk  I  have  had  with  you  will  never  be  forgotten 
by  me,  but  I  would  like  to  have  some  little  souvenir 
to  make  the  memory  of  it  doubly  sure  and  pleasant. 
Will  you  allow  me  to  keep  this  band  of  ribbon  ? " 

Meg  looked  up  with  laughing  eyes.  "I  should 
think  your  hat  would  be  entirely  sufficient  to  keep 
your  memory  green,"  she  said  slyly. 

Mr.  Stanley  laughed.  "I  will  make  a  fair  exchange 
with  you,  Miss  Randal.  I  will  give  you  the  hat  if 
you  will  give  me  the  ribbon." 

"Agreed." 

"I  will  send  it  down  to-morrow  morning." 

"Very  well." 


OUT  IN  THE  STORM.  25 

"And  now,  good-night,  Miss  Randal,  and  many 
thanks  for  a  most  enjoyable  half-hour." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Stanley.  I  thank  you  for  your 
protection." 

Mr.  Stanley  bowed  in  lieu  of  raising  his  hat.  Meg 
turned  as  if  to  enter  the  house,  but  stopped  under  the 
piazza  and  watched  the  manly  form  going  down  the 
dimly-lighted  street. 

"A  perfect  gentleman,"  she  said  to  herself,  "but 
then,  he  is  a  minister,  and  therefore  must  be  a  gentle- 
man. I  like  him.  He  is  so  kind  and  pleasant,  so 
full  of  life  and  vigor.  He  is  strong,  too,  and  I  admire 
strength  in  a  man  —  physical  strength  as  well  as 
intellectual.  I  would  almost  as  soon  a  man  be  defi- 
cient in  one  as  the  other.  He  had  me  on  my  feet 
that  time  I  stumbled  almost  before  I  knew  what  I 
had  done.  But,"  and  Meg's  laughing  face  assumed  a 
most  determined  expression,  "the  greatest  reason  of 
all  why  I  like  him  is  because  he  did  not  ask  me,  the 
moment  I  took  his  arm,  if  I  had  ever  given  myself  to 
the  Saviour,  and  if  I  had  not,  if  I  would  not  do  so, 
now,  before  it  was  too  late.  That  is  the  way  most 
ministers  begin  and  some  who  are  not  ministers.  I 
am  tired  of  hearing  it.  Just  as  if  I  should  not  know 
whether  I  wanted  to  join  a  church  or  not  without 
being  told  to  do  so.  Such  people  may  mean  well, 


26  MEGDA. 


undoubtedly  they  do,  but  it  is  my  private  opinion 
that  they  are  apt,  very  apt,  to  do  more  harm  than 
good."  And  ending  her  soliloquy  with  a  little  stamp 
of  her  umbrella  on  the  floor  of  the  piazza,  this  girl  with 
the  laughing  face  and  light,  merry  heart,  who  thought 
herself  sufficient  for  her  own  perfect  happiness,  and 
who  was  beloved  by  man,  woman  and  child  for  her 
own  lovable,  wayward,  charming  self — this  girl,  lack- 
ing only  the  one  thing  to  make  her  one  of  God's  most 
perfect  creations,  not  because  of  her  beautiful  face, 
for  it  was  not  beautiful,  only  fair  and  sweet  and  girl- 
ish—  but  because  of  her  great  capability  of  loving 
and  of  making  all  people  love  her — this  girl,  I  say, 
opened  the  door  and  went  into  her  home  with  this 
feeling  filling  her  heart.  Did  the  mother  and  sister 
and  brother,  watching  and  waiting  with  impatient,  lov- 
ing hearts  for  the  first  sound  of  the  sweet  voice,  the 
first  sight  of  the  laughing  face,  miss  the  inexpressi- 
ble something  in  her  voice  and  face,  and,  looking  for 
it,  find  it  not  ? 

The  mother,  perhaps,  nay  surely  did ;  but  her  love 
for  her  darling  was  so  deep  that  she  could  not  bear  to 
trouble  or  displease  her.  To  the  sister  and  brother 
she  was  all  they  asked  for  —  their  pride  and  joy. 


MEG  AT  HOME.  27 


III. 

MEG  A  T  HOME. 

MEG'S  appearance  in  the  small,  cosy  kitchen  was 
welcomed  in  the  usual  way.  The  mother  had 
a  fond,  loving  smile  for  her ;  Elsie  a  kiss  and  soft  lit- 
tle pat  for  each  cheek;  Hal  a  boyish  hug  and  pinch 
of  the  pretty  ear ;  and  Meg  received  the  welcome  in 
her  usual  way.  To  the  mother  an  answering  smile ; 
to  Elsie  a  loving  but  careless  kiss ;  to  Hal  a  playful 
box  on  the  ear  and  a  laughing  — 

"Now,  Tease,  behave,"  then  she  tossed  her  gossa- 
mer on  one  chair,  her  hat  and  jacket  on  another,  and 
her  umbrella  she  stood  up  in  the  corner;  she  then 
accepted  Hal's  invitation  to  a  seat  upon  his  knee  and 
smoothed  his  curly  hair  with  her  white  hand,  while 
she  told  over  to  her  admiring  audience  the  events  of 
the  day,  not  noticing  or,  if  noticing,  not  saying  any- 
thing, that  Elsie  was  going  about  quietly  and  putting 
away  the  scattered  things. 

The  only  reason  why  she   did   not   say  anything 


28  MEGDA. 


about  it  was,  that  she  had  been  so  accustomed  to 
being  waited  upon  that  she  took  it  all  as  a  "  matter  of 
course."  But  Meg  would  have  done  anything  in  the 
world  for  her  three  dear  ones ;  if  it  had  become  nec- 
essary for  her  to  work  day  after  day  to  care  for  them, 
she  would  have  done  it,  and  done  it  cheerfully,  too. 

As  the  family  seated  themselves  around  the  tea- 
table  in  the  long,  narrow  dining-room  Meg  suddenly 
said : 

"Oh,  I  must  tell  you  of  the  adventure  I  had  to- 
night on  my  way  home  from  Laurie's !  "  and  then  fol- 
lowed a  description  —  such  as  only  Meg  could  give  — 
of  her  rather  wild  walk  with  Mr.  Stanley.  She  told 
them  everything,  even  the  request  that  Mr.  Stanley 
had  made  that  she  should  exchange  her  ribbon  for 
his  hat;  and  they  laughed  at  her,  as  they  always 
did. 

"  One  would  hardly  judge  Mr.  Stanley  to  be  so 
lively,  from  his  appearance,"  observed  Elsie  in  her 
quiet  way. 

"No,  indeed,"  returned  Meg.  "I  was  very  much 
surprised.  I  have  never  had  any  conversation  with 
him  before,  you  know,  and  I  have  heard  him  preach 
but  —  how  many  times,  Elsie?" 

"Three  times." 

"Yes,  three   times.     He   is   so   very  dignified   in 


MEG  AT  HOME.  29 

appearance  and  —  and  —  well,  /  called  him  a  very 
stern-featured  young  man  for  one  of  his  tender  years, 
don't  you,  sister?  He  can't  be  more  than  twenty- 
four." 

"  He  is  twenty-five,"  said  Elsie. 

Meg  opened  her  dark  eyes.  Hal  laughed  teasingly. 
"  Sister  is  ahead  of  you,  Girlie ;  you  had  better  look 
out."  - 

"How  did  you  know  that,  Elsie  Randal?"  asked 
the  astonished  Meg. 

Elsie  laughed  softly.  "Mrs.  Lawton  told  me  on 
the  cars  yesterday  coming  out  from  the  city.  He  took 
dinner  at  their  house  last  Sunday." 

"Oh,  and  that  reminds  me,"  said  Meg  with  a  care- 
lessness that  was  a  trifle  assumed.  "Ethel  has  come 
out  and  joined  the  good  ones;  she  rose  for  prayers 
last  Thursday  night." 

Elsie  looked  up  quickly  —  a  glad  light  shining  in 
her  gray  eyes,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

Mrs.  Randal  sighed.  "What  a  happy  mother  Mrs. 
Lawton  must  be,"  she  said. 

Meg  laughed  lightly.  "Yes,  don't  you  envy  her, 
mother  ?  And  see  what  a  wicked  sinner  your  young- 
est female  is.  But  I  have  even  still  more  joyful  news 
for  you.  The  wandering  sheep  has  been  brought  back 
to  the  fold  —  or  else  she  goes  in  for  the  first  time  —  I 


30  MEGDA. 


am  not  prepared  to  say  which.  Guess  who  else  rose 
for  prayers.  Hal,  you  guess." 

Hal  stopped  a  piece  of  cake  on  its  way  to  his  mouth. 
"  Laurie,"  he  said  quickly. 

Meg  laughed.  "Laurie!  The  idea!  Why,  she 
would  never  think  of  rising  unless  some  one  took  hold 
of  her  and  pulled  her  up  by  main  force.  No;  you 
guess,  sister." 

"Dell." 

"  No,  not  Dell.  You  are  almost  as  brilliant  as  Hal, 
sister.  Dell  Manton  will  remain  Dell  Manton  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter ;  that  girl  is  true  blue  —  no  deceit 
about  her.  She  is  no  angel  and  doesn't  pretend  to  be 
one;  she  would  no  more  pretend  to  be  what  she  is 
not  than" — here  Meg  cast  about  in  her  mind  for  a 
good  comparison  and  lighted  upon  herself  —  "  than  I 
would." 

"Do  you  call  it  being  'true  blue'  to  keep  from 
making  a  profession  of  religion,  Girlie?" 

It  was  Elsie  who  spoke. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Meg  boldly,  "unless  you 
back  your  profession  up  with  noble  actions.  I  call 
Dell  true  blue,  myself  true  blue  and  everybody  else 
true  blue  who  will  not  lower  themselves  in  their  own 
or  anyone  else's  estimation,  by  making  false  profes- 
sions of  religion." 


MEG  AT  HOME.  31 

Meg  looked  very  proud  and  her  lips  were  curled 
scornfully. 

"But,  Girlie,"  said  Elsie,  "are  such  professions 
necessarily  false  ?  Anyone  who  would  make  such  a 
false  profession  would  be  very  wicked  indeed ;  every 
one  must  know  that.  I  am  certain  that  there  are  no 
truer  girls  on  the  earth  than  you  and  Dell,  but  — 
but "  - 

Elsie  stopped,  confused,  before  the  laughing  face 
turned  toward  her.  She  had  tried  so  many  times 
before  to  talk  seriously  to  Meg  about  religion,  and 
every  time  she  had  found  herself  unable  to  get  only 
just  so  far.  Meg  would  turn  that  laughing  face  of 
hers,  with  the  little  scornful  curve  of  the  red  lips, 
toward  her,  and  she  would  stop  confused,  ashamed, 
and  almost  ready  to  beg  Meg's  pardon  for  presuming 
to  preach  to  her. 

"But  —  but  —  oh,  sister,  don't  you  try  to  assume 
the  role  of  preacher  —  it  would  never  suit  you.  Well, 
I  see  you  are  not  going  to  guess  the  riddle,  so  I  will 
tell  you.  Brace  yourself  for  the  shock  —  Maude 
Leonard. " 

Meg  spoke  the  name  contemptuously  and  looked 
around  the  table  to  see  what  effect  the  name  would 
have  on  the  three.  Hal  gave  a  low  whistle,  Mrs. 
Randal  looked  surprised,  and  even  Elsie,  who  was 


32  MEGDA. 


always  so  quick  to  see  one's  virtues  before  she  saw 
their  faults,  looked  incredulous. 

Meg  was  satisfied.  "You  are  not  more  surprised 
than  I  was,"  she  said,  rising  from  the  table.  "I 
must  confess  my  nervous  system  received  quite  a 
shock  when  Laurie  told  me.  Indeed,  I  am  so  nervous 
even  now,  Hal,  that  I  am  not  in  a  fit  condition  to  go 
to  the  hall  alone;  so  put  on  your  overcoat  and  hat 
and  come  with  me  —  do,  that  is  a  dear  brother." 

Very  few  could  resist  Meg  when  she  spoke  in  that 
sweet,  coaxing  way  —  certainly  her  brother  could  not. 

"You  know  how  to  get  around  a  fellow  about  as 
well  as  anyone  I  know  of,"  he  said,  with  assumed 
gruffness.  "  I  don't  believe  the  person  has  yet  been 
born  whom  you  could  not  twist  around  your  little 
finger." 

Meg  laughed.  "  I  hope  you  do  not  mean  to  insult 
me,  or  is  that  only  a  figure  of  speech  ?  My  little 
finger  looks  scarcely  large  enough  to  twist  such  a  tall 
young  giant  as  you  around,"  and  she  held  up  her  hand 
and  looked  at  it  thoughtfully.  Hal  took  it  in  his  own 
strong,  brown  one. 

"  Oh,  what  a  hand  ! "  he  said,  tenderly  stroking  it. 

"What  objections  have  you  to  that  hand,"  asked 
Meg,  rather  conceitedly.  "It  is  generally  considered 
a  rather  pretty  one." 


MEG  AT  HOME.  33 

"Pretty  is  no  name  for  it,"  returned  Hal.  "It  is  a 
regular  little  beauty." 

"  Don't  make  her  any  vainer  than  she  is  already, 
brother,"  said  Elsie  smilingly,  on  her  way  to  the  sink 
with  a  pile  of  dishes. 

"Do  you  think  it  is  really  necessary  to  go  to  the 
hall  to-night,  Meg?"  asked  Mrs.  Randal.  "It  is  still 
raining  hard  and  the  wind  blows  badly." 

"Oh,  dear,  mother,  what  a  question  for  you  to  ask," 
replied  Meg.  "What  do  you  suppose  would  be 
accomplished  if  I  didn't  go  ? " 

"What  an  important  personage  our  Megda  is,"  said 
Hal  mischievously.  "She'll  be  supplying  the  pulpit 
for  Mr.  Stanley  some  Sunday." 

"Not  much,"  replied  Meg,  tossing  her  head  proudly. 
"I'll  leave  that  for  some  of  our  converts  to  do.  But, 
about  to-night's  meeting,  mother.  You  know  that  if  I 
should  stay  at  home  there  would  be  nothing  done,  and 
we  should  have  to  pay  two  dollars  just  the  same.  I 
really  think  they  might  let  us  have  the  hall  for  noth- 
ing. I  have  to  play  for  the  singing  and  be  Secretary 
and  Treasurer  in  one.  It  may  be  nice  to  be  accom- 
plished, but  it  has  its  drawbacks  and  this  is  one  of 
them  :  being  obliged  to  go  out  in  all  kinds  of  weather." 

Although  Meg  scolded  she  was  proud  at  the  same 
time  to  think  that  she  was  of  so  much  importance. 


34  MEGDA. 


"You  should  not  be  so  capable,  my  sweet  sister," 
said  Hal,  taking  up  the  umbrella. 

"I'll  be  at  home  soon  after  nine  o'clock,  mother," 
said  Meg. 

"Take  good  care  of  her,  Hal."  And  the  mother 
left  her  dish-washing,  and  Elsie  her  dish-wiping,  and 
both  went  to  the  door  to  see  them  off. 

"You  may  trust  me,"  said  Hal  pompously;  and 
Meg  laughed  as  she  tucked  her  hand  under  his  arm 
and  went  with  him  out  into  the  dark,  wild,  stormy 
night. 

They  stopped  for  Laurie  on  their  way;  she  was 
ready  and  waiting  for  them. 

"Take  Hal's  other  arm,  Laurie,"  said  Meg. 

"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Hal,  looking  down  on 
Laurie  with  admiring  eyes. 

Laurie  accepted  the  proffered  arm  with  a  flushing 
"Thank  you."  Meg  commenced  her  usual  lively 
chatter,  very  seldom  waiting  for  any  reply  to  her 
questions,  and  not  getting  any  when  she  did  wait,  for 
Hal's  head  was  turned  from  her  and  he  and  Laurie 
were  engaged  in  "silent  conversation."  Anyone  who 
has  been  in  their  situation  will  understand  what  I 
mean  by  that  rather  vague  expression. 

Meg  excused  their  impoliteness,  only  saying  to  her- 
self as  she  had  said  a  good  many  times  before,  that 


MEG  AT  HOME.  35 

she  didn't  know  what  Hal  could  see  in  Laurie  to  like 
so  well ;  she  was  very  pretty,  and  a  good  little  thing 
enough,  but  there  was  no  depth  to  her.  She  never 
asked  herself  why  she  should  care  so  much  for  her, 
for  she  certainly  did  think  a  great  deal  of  Laurie ;  if 
she  had,  she  would  probably  have  answered  the  ques- 
tion in  her  own  easy,  laughing  manner,  "  Oh,  extremes 
sometimes  meet." 

Meg  was  so  careless  in  her  conceit  that  nobody 
ever  thought  of  finding  fault  with  her  for  it. 

When  they  reached  the  hall,  Hal  excused  himself 
from  going  in  on  the  plea  "that  it  was  important 
that  he  should  see  his  barber." 

"  It  won't  take  you  more  than  five  minutes,  will  it, 
Hal?"  asked  Meg,  mischievously. 

"I'll  be  through  in  time  to  see  you  home,"  he 
retorted.  "You  may  tell  Duncan  so." 

Meg  laughed  and  led  the  way  into  the  reading- 
room.  A  group  of  young  ladies  and  gentlemen 
standing  around  one  of  the  radiators,  turned  as  Meg 
and  Laurie  entered,  and  upon  catching  sight  of  their 
"leader"  made  a  rush  for  her. 

"  Just  the  one  we  have  been  waiting  for,  Miss  Ran- 
dal," said  a  tall,  slender  young  man,  with  a  compli- 
ment in  every  word. 

Meg  answered  him  with  a  smile  and  a  nod  and 


36  MEGDA. 


turned  to  a  girl  who  had  a  mass  of  golden  hair  braided 
loosely  and  wound  round  and  round  her  head,  large 
gray  eyes  and  a  red,  smiling  mouth,  with  small,  white 
teeth.  Her  skin  was  dazzling  white,  without  one 
tinge  of  pink  in  it.  This  was  Dell  Manton,  the 
beauty  of  the  town. 

"I  am  more  than  surprised  to  see  you  here,  Miss 
Manton,"  said  Meg,  ceremoniously.  "I  had  hardly 
dared  to  hope  for  such  a  pleasure.  How  did  you  get 
here?" 

Dell  was  no  adept  in  witty  repartee;  she  always 
put  plain  questions  and  gave  plain  answers.  "Joe 
brought  me  here,"  she  answered. 

"Happy  Joe,"  murmured  Ed  Holmes  sentimentally. 

Dell  acknowledged  this  compliment  with  a  wither- 
ing glance,  and  the  young  man  immediately  withdrew. 

"But  where  is  Ethel?  She  isn't  here  and  it  is  time 
to  begin,"  said  Meg. 

No  one  answered,  but  each  looked  at  the  other. 
Meg,  feeling  at  once  by  that  fine  intuition  of  hers 
that  something  was  wrong,  drew  herself  up  proudly 
and  surveyed  them  all  with  sparkling  dark  eyes. 


ETHEL'S  ABSENCE.  37 


IV. 

ETHEVS  ABSENCE. 

WHO  knows  why  Ethel  is  not  here?"  asked  Meg. 
Still  no  answer.  Meg's  lip  commenced  its 
scornful  curve.  "Does  no  one  know,  or  are  you 
afraid  to  tell?" 

This  insinuation  was  too  much  for  Dell.  "  I  think 
we  all  know ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  we  do,  for  that  was 
the  subject  of  our  conversation  when  you  and  Laurie 
entered  the  room.  Ethel  has  expressed  herself  as 
unwilling  to  go  on  with  the  society  unless  said  soci- 
ety will  banish  from  its  entertainments  and  socials 
such  dissipations  as  whist,  dancing  and  theatricals." 

Dell  spoke  with  her  characteristic  plainness.  For  a 
moment  there  was  silence  —  all  eyes  directed  toward 
Meg.  There  was  a  slight  tinge  of  pink  in  her  usually 
pale  cheek  and  her  lips  were  curled  scornfully,  then  a 
laughing  light  broke  out  into  her  eyes  and  all  over 
her  face,  and  her  voice  sounded  clear  and  sweet. 

"Ah,  well!  we  might  have  expected  this.     I  dare 


38  MEGDA. 


say  she  will  change  her  mind  after  a  more  mature 
deliberation  on  the  subject;  until  then  we  must  get 
along  without  her  as  best  we  can.  I  only  hope  she 
will  think  better  of  it  before  we  give  that  scene  from 
'Hamlet';  she  would  make  such  an  ideal  'Ophelia.' 

"A  better  'Desdemona',"  murmured  Will  Duncan. 

That  was  all  Meg  said,  then  she  walked  proudly 
up  to  the  front  of  the  room.  The  rest,  ruled  and 
governed  by  her  in  this  as  in  everything  else,  followed 
her.  Had  she  expressed  herself  to  be  of  the  same 
mind  as  Ethel  and  asked  them  to  give  up  the  things 
which  Dell  had  mentioned,  they  would  have  done  it 
without  one  murmur  of  remonstrance — such  was  her 
influence  over  them. 

May  Bromley  ran  after  Meg  and  caught  her  arm. 
"Maude  Leonard  has  refused  to  take  part  in  our 
sociables,  too,"  she  whispered. 

"  Meg  turned  her  face  toward  May  and  smiled ;  that 
was  her  only  answer, .  but  May  had  seen  that  smile 
before  and  knew  what  it  meant.  She  laughed  mer- 
rily and  gave  the  arm  she  held  a  squeeze. 

"Oh,  Meg,"  she  said,  in  that  tone  of  voice  which 
suggested  a  high  appreciation  of  Meg's  skepticism. 

Mr.  Duncan,  as  president  of  the  society,  called  the 
meeting  to  order.  Meg  seated  herself  at  the  piano. 

"Suppose  we  open  our  meeting  by  singing   that 


ETHEL'S  ABSENCE.  39 

good  old  song,  'Forgive  and  Forget'/'  said  Mr. 
Duncan. 

Meg  smiled  as  she  turned  over  the  leaves  quickly 
to  find  the  place.  "One  would  think  that  Will  was 
fifty-one  instead  of  twenty-one, "  she  said  to  herself. 
"He  talks  like  his  grandfather.  That  is  the  only 
fault  I  can  find  with  Will  —  he  tries  so  hard  to  be 
older  than  he  is." 

Then  she  struck  the  opening  chords  and  the  young 
voices  burst  forth  in  melody,  Meg's  clear,  sweet  notes 
ringing  out  above  all  the  others  in  the  chorus : 

"  Then  Forgive  and  Forget,  for  this  life  is  too  fleeting,"  etc. 

Dell's  beautiful,  strong  alto  sounded  delightful,  and 
Dell  herself  seemed  to  throw  her  whole  soul  into  the 
words.  But  that  was  the  way  Dell  always  sang. 
Will  Duncan's  bass  and  Ed  Holmes'  tenor  added 
strength  and  beauty  to  the  lines,  while  the  others  did 
their  part  well.  Meg's  voice  was  the  pride  of  the 
school;  it  was  so  clear  and  sweet  —  not  particularly 
strong  as  yet,  but  what  it  lacked  in  strength  it  made 
up  in  expression. 

After  the  song  the  president  said,  "  The  secretary 
will  please  read  the  report  of  the  last  meeting." 

Meg   was    secretary ;    and    an    excellent    one    she 


40  MEGDA. 


made,  too.  The  minutes  were  read  and  approved, 
and  then  the  meeting  was  open  to  the  business  of  the 
evening. 

The  president  began:  "As  is  doubtless  known  by 
all,  the  society  have  decided  to  give  an  entertainment 
in  the  hall  above,  consisting  of  music,  both  vocal  and 
instrumental,  readings  and  a  scene  from  'Hamlet.' 
Perhaps  the  first  thing  we  had  better  do  will  be  to 
decide  on  the  evening.  Will  someone  suggest  an 
evening?" 

Melvin  Pierce  moved  that  they  fix  on  Wednesday 
evening,  Nov.  25. 

"Those  in  favor  of  this  evening,"  said  the  presi- 
dent, "please  raise  the  right  hand." 

Every  hand  was  raised.  "  Not  necessary  to  call  for 
contrary  minds  —  it  is  a  vote." 

The  president  stopped  just  here  as  if  not  knowing 
exactly  how  to  proceed.  Meg,  catching  his  eye  and 
reading  its  expression  aright,  rose  to  her  feet  and 
said: 

"  Mr.  President,  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  necessary  for 
us  to  change  the  play  we  were  intending  to  represent. 
I  was  not  thinking  that  we  would  give  the  entertain- 
ment at  so  early  a  date.  Our  '  Ophelia '  will  probably 
not  have  time  to  change  her  mind  with  reference  to 
taking  part  in  our  wickedness,  and  we  really  have  no 


ETHEL'S  ABSENCE.  41 

one  else  who  is  so  fitted  for  the  part  as  Miss  Lawton. 
I  move  that  instead  of  'Hamlet'  we  give  'Macbeth'." 

"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Ed  Holmes  quickly. 

"The  motion  has  been  made  and  seconded,  that  we 
change  the  play  of  'Hamlet'  to  that  of  'Macbeth.' 
Those  in  favor  of  so  doing  signify  in  the  usual  man- 
ner. Contrary  minds.  It  is  a  vote." 

The  next  thing  was  to  choose  the  Act  and  assign 
the  characters.  Act  II,  Scene  II,  was  agreed  upon, 
also  the  latter  part  of  Scene  II  in  Act  III.  Meg  as 
"Lady  Macbeth,"  Will  as  "Macbeth." 

"We  have  commenced  at  the  wrong  end  of  the  pro- 
gramme," said  the  president  with  a  smile.  "The 
'variety'  should  come  first.  Miss  Randal,  will  you 
favor  us  with  two  '  Readings '  ? " 

"With  pleasure,  Mr.  President." 

"Thank  you.  Miss  Manton,  will  you  contribute 
toward  the  success  of  our  entertainment  by  a  con- 
tralto solo  ? " 

"I  will,  Mr.  President." 

"Thank  you.  Mr.  Holmes,  will  you  oblige  us 
with  a  tenor  solo  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Thank  you.  I  presume  the  members  of  the  quar- 
tette will  consent  to  give  one  or  two  selections.  Are 
the  ladies  agreeable  ? " 


42  MEGDA. 


Meg  and  Dell  were  very  "  agreeable." 

"Mr.  Holmes?" 

Yes,  Mr.  Holmes  was  also  agreeable. 

"And  I  am  sure  Mr.  Duncan  is,"  said  Will  laugh- 
ingly. "That  completes  the  programme,  I  believe. 
The  admission  fee  must  next  be  decided  upon.  Has 
anyone  any  suggestions  to  make?" 

Melvin  Pierce  rose.  "Mr.  President,  I  think  the 
talent  we  are  to  have  demands  a  good  price  for  the 
tickets.  I  move  the  tickets  be  fifteen,  twenty-five 
and  thirty-five  cents  respectively." 

"You  hear  the  motion ;  does  anyone  second  it?" 

Bert  Marston  opened  his  lips  to  do  so  when  Meg 
rose  to  her  feet.  "Mr.  President,  I,  for  one,  object 
to  having  two  prices  for  the  whole  tickets.  The 
price  (fifteen  cents)  for  the  half-tickets  is  very  good, 
but  I  think  we  shall  find  it  more  successful  in  doing 
away  with  the  reserved  seats.  But  comparatively  few 
of  the  people  here  prefer  the  front  seats.  I  move  as 
an  amendment  that  we  have  but  one  price,  twenty-five 
cents,  thus  giving  everyone  an  equal  chance." 

"I  second  the  amendment,"  said  Dell  promptly, 
and,  as  usual,  when  Meg  led  there  was  no  resistance. 

The  ushers  were  then  appointed  —  Ray  Blanding  as 
head  usher,  to  be  assisted  by  Hal  Randal,  Bert  Mars- 
ton  and  Melvin  Pierce.  Ray  declined  on  a  plea  of 


ETHEL'S  ABSENCE.  43 

bashfulness ;  a  burst  of  laughter  greeted  this  declara- 
tion. The  president  rapped  for  order  and  reminded 
the  bashful  young  man  that  "this  is  a  society  that 
receives  no  declinations."  His  objections  thus  over- 
ruled, Ray  was  forced  to  withdraw  them  amid  many 
smiles  and  merry  glances.  The  ticket  seller  and  col- 
lector were  then  appointed  and  the  business  brought 
to  a  close. 

The  paper  for  the  evening  was  then  listened  to.  It 
was  prepared  and  read  by  May  Bromley,  and  its  sub- 
ject was:  "Moral  culture."  Rather  a  deep  subject 
for  flighty  May  to  undertake  to  handle,  but  it  con- 
tained more  sense  and  more  careful  knowledge  of  the 
subject  than  any  of  the  members  had  given  her  credit 
for  having. 

"  We  will  have  to  waive  the  discussion  until  some 
future  meeting,  as  it  is  already  within  ten  minutes  of 
our  closing  hour,"  said  the  president.  "For  myself, 
I  can  say  that  the  paper  has  proved  most  interesting. 
I  think  Miss  Bromley  should  be  congratulated  upon 
her  admirable  handling  of  the  subject;  it  certainly 
showed  both  careful  thought  and  study.  We  will 
bring  the  meeting  to  a  close  by  singing,  'Merry 
hearts'." 

"What  a  splendid  'Lady  Macbeth'  Meg  will  make, 
won't  she?"  said  faithful  little  Laurie  to  May,  as 


44  MEGDA. 


they  stood  together  for  a  moment,  putting  on  their 
gossamers. 

"Beautiful,"  answered  May.  "But  come  to  think 
of  it,  Laurie,  why  didn't  Meg  go  on  with  'Hamlet,' 
and  give  the  part  of  '  Ophelia '  to  Dell.  She  is  fair 
enough,  goodness  knows." 

"Who  is  taking  my  name  in  vain?"  asked  Meg, 
coming  up. 

"I  am,"  answered  May.  "Why  didn't  you  give  the 
part  of  'Ophelia'  to  Dell?" 

Meg  smiled  a  superior  smile.  .  "  Look  at  her  now 
and  learn  my  reason." 

Both  girls  looked  at  Dell,  who  was  standing  up  very 
straight  and  dignified,  talking  earnestly  to  Bert  Mars- 
ton.  There  was  a  most  determined  expression  on  her 
lovely  face ;  she  was  evidently  "  laying  the  law  down  " 
to  Bert,  and  he  was  listening  to  her  intently. 

"  Do  you  see  ? "  asked  Meg. 

"Yes,"  answered  May,  laughing. 

"But  I  don't,"  said  Laurie,  a  puzzled  expression  on 
her  flower-like  face. 

"Oh,  little  goose,"  said  Meg,  with  affectionate 
scorn.  "Can  you  imagine  Dell  saying  to  her  'Ham- 
let '  in  response  to  his  « I  did  love  you  once,'  <  Indeed, 
my  lord,  you  made  me  believe  so '  ?  I  think  I  have 
my  share  of  imagination,  but  I  have  not  enough  to 


ETHEL'S  ABSENCE.  45 

imagine  such  an  impossibility  as  that.  She  would 
more  probably  send  him  about  his  business  in  double- 
quick  time.  No,  girls,  I  cannot  imagine  Dell  speaking 
like  that  to  any  man  any  more  than  I  can  imagine 
myself  doing  it." 

"  What  part  of  the  scene  from  '  Macbeth '  will  you 
take,  Meg  ? "  asked  one  of  the  girls. 

"  That  part  where  <  Lady  Macbeth '  and  her  lord  are 
conferring  together  after  the  bloody  deed  has  been 
accomplished.  Then  I  can  relieve  myself  of  some  of 
the  scorn  I  feel  for  my  Macbeth,"  replied  Meg  with  a 
laugh. 

"Oh,  Meg,  you  are  too  bad,"  said  May. 

"Hullo,  Randal,"  suddenly  exclaimed  Melvin  Pierce. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  showing  yourself  at  this  late 
hour?  The  business  of  the  meeting  has  but  just  been 
brought  to  a  close,"  and  he  bowed  very  politely  to  Hal, 
who  had  just  entered  the  room. 

"Very  fortunate  for  me,"  replied  Hal.  "I  have  no 
doubt  everything  was  as  satisfactorily  settled  without 
me  as  it  would  have  been  with  me." 

"Thanks  to  your  sister,  yes,"  replied  Melvin. 

"Does  it  rain  out,  Hal?"  asked  Will,  coming  up 
with  his  umbrella  in  his  hand. 

"It  doesn't  rain  in,  sure,"  said  Melvin,  looking  up  to 
the  ceiling  as  if  to  find  confirmation  to  his  words. 


46  MEGDA. 


Will  did  not  deign  to  notice  this  foolish  remark,  and 
looked  at  Hal  for  a  reply. 

•"Very  little,"  replied  Hal;  "but  enough  to  warrant 
the  use  of  an  umbrella  if  a  bonnet  is  in  the  case." 

"  Bonnet ! "  exclaimed  Meg,  indignantly,  before  the 
others  had  a  chance  to  laugh  at  Hal's  rather  suggest- 
ive remark.  "Hal  calls  everything  a  woman  puts 
on  her  head  a  bonnet,  if  it  is  nothing  but  an  old 
cloud." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  the  name  of  every 
kind  of  head-gear  a  woman  wears,"  replied  Hal.  "I 
have  too  much  respect  for  my  brains  to  even  try 
to  remember  them.  Let  him  who  is  a  man  of  leisure 
undertake  that  task." 

"Amen,"  said  Melvin  solemnly. 

Meg  turned  to  him  with  a  laugh.  "  You  heathen," 
she  said.  "  It  is  well  that  our  young  converts  do  not 
hear  you ;  you  would  fill  them  with  horror  for  your 
wickedness." 

"  Meg,"  said  Hal  gently. 

She  turned  to  him  and  opened  her  eyes  wide  at  the 
look  of  pain  on  his  face ;  she  opened  her  lips  to  ask 
him  if  his  barber  had  turned  preacher  and  read  him  a 
sermon  before  coming  to  the  hall,  but  a  feeling  of 
shame  that  was  as  new  as  it  was  unpleasant,  stopped 
her.  She  bit  her  lip  and  turned  to  Will,  who  was  at 


ETHEL'S  ABSENCE.  47 

her  side  asking  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  to  her 
home.  Instead  of  answering  him  with  her  accus- 
tomed sweet  graciousness,  she  surprised  him  beyond 
measure  by  saying  curtly  : 

"Oh,  certainly,  Mr.  Duncan,  only  I  am  afraid  the 
pleasure  will  prove  to  be  a  task  and  a  very  disagreea- 
ble one,  too.  My !  how  the  wind  does  blow  ! " 

They  had  reached  the  door  by  this  time ;  Hal,  being 
ahead,  opened  it  and  all  were  greeted  by  a  terrific 
gust  that  sent  them  back  into  the  entry  again. 

"Can't  you  keep  the  umbrella  up,  Hal  ?"  called  Bert 
Marston. 

"I  am  not  going  to  try,"  returned  Hal,  drawing 
Laurie's  hand  closely  through  his  arm,  and  making  a 
determined  plunge  forward. 

They  went  crowding  out  after  him,  laughing  and 
talking  all  at  once.  They  seemed  to  be  the  only  peo- 
ple out.  The  streets  looked  dark  and  deserted.  The 
girls  gathered  their  skirts  up  underneath  their  gos- 
samers, keeping  up  their  laughing  and  chattering, 
and  dropping  off  one  at  a  time  with  their  escorts 
when  they  reached  the  street  on  which  they  lived, 
calling  gaily  to  each  other,  "See  you  at  school  in 
the  morning,"  until  Hal  and  Laurie,  Will  and  Meg 
found  themselves  alone. 

Will    was    even    more    dignified    than    ever,    and 


48  MEGDA. 


scarcely  spoke  a  word.  Meg,  as  Hal  told  her  after- 
ward, did  talking  enough  for  both,  though  all  the 
time  she  was  drawing  comparisons  between  poor  Will 
and  her  escort  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening. 

"  Dear  me !  I  do  believe  Will  is  getting  bow-legged  ; 
he  does  jerk  along  dreadfully.  I  am  sure  it  doesn't 
blow  nearly  as  hard  as  it  did  three  hours  ago,  and  Mr. 
Stanley  didn't  bump  up  against  me  and  pull  me 
around  as  he  is  doing.  This  is  the  last  time  you  will 
torture  me,  young  man.  I  ought  to  have  gotten  my 
life  insured  before  I  left  home.  Oh,  here  we  are  at 
our  gate,  thank  goodness  !  " 

All  this  was,  of  course,  said  to  herself ;  to  Will  she 
said  most  sweetly :  "  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Dun- 
can. Isn't  my  prophecy  verified  ? " 

"What  prophecy?"  asked  Will,  in  his  most  digni- 
fied manner,  although  he  was  having  great  difficulty 
in  keeping  on  his  feet. 

"  What  prophecy !  Why,  Mr.  Duncan,  you  are  grow- 
ing forgetful.  I  prophesied  before  we  left  the  hall, 
that  the  pleasure  would  prove  but  a  task,  and  a  most 
disagreeable  one ;  was  I  not  right  ? " 

Will  bowed  most  gravely  and  came  very  near  sit- 
ting down  on  the  doorstep.  "It  is  always  a  pleasure 
for  me  to  render  you  any  support,  however  feeble  and 
ineffectual  it  may  be,  Miss  Randal.  But  I  beg  to 


ETHEL'S  ABSENCE.  49 

appropriate  the  pleasure  to  myself;  I  have  enjoyed  the 
walk  home  with  you  very  much." 

"Oh,  what  a  fib!"  said  Meg  in  her  mind.  Aloud: 
"You  are  too  kind,  Mr.  Duncan,  but  I  will  not  give 
you  occasion  to  change  your  mind  in  regard  to  the 
pleasure  by  keeping  you  out  in  the  wind  and  .  rain. 
Good-night" 

"Good-night,  Miss  Randal." 

Will  was  spared  the  trouble  of  lifting  his  hat,  as  the 
wind  lifted  it  for  him,  and  he  had  some  difficulty  in 
getting  it  again.  The  wind,  however,  was  kinder  to 
him  than  it  had  been  to  Mr.  Stanley,  and  after  twirl- 
ing it  around  once  or  twice,  drove  it  into  a  sheltered 
nook  and  left  it  there.  Mr.  Duncan  gravely  picked  it 
up,  put  it  on  his  head,  repeated  his  good-night  to  Meg 
and  passed  out  of  the  gate. 

Meg  went  into  the  house  and  entertained  her 
Mother  and  Elsie  in  her  usual  manner  by  relating 
everything  as  it  had  happened  at  the  reading-room, 
leaving  nothing  out,  not  even  that  Ethel  had  decided 
to  withdraw  from  the  society.  But  she  told  it  all  in 
her  own  light,  laughing  way,  and  neither  of  them  had 
any  idea  that  she  was  feeling  just  the  least  bit  sorry 
about  it.  Hal  came  in,  but  he  appeared  rather  silent 
and  grave,  though  no  one  seemed  to  notice  it  except 
Meg.  She  did  not  say  anything  about  it,  however,  and 


50  MEGDA. 


after  a  few  minutes  they  bade  each  other  good-night 
and  went  to  their  respective  rooms. 

Meg  slept  alone  —  she  preferred  to.  Elsie  and  the 
mother  shared  the  same  room,  the  one  off  the  sitting- 
room.  Hal  used  the  one  off  the  dining-room,  but  Meg 
scorned  alike  both  rooms  and  went  up  stairs  alone. 
"She  wanted  to  go  up  high  to  sleep,"  she  always  said. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  couldn't  breathe  when  she 
slept  down  stairs.  She  wanted  to  be  alone,  too ;  with 
none  but  her  thoughts  and  her  dreams  to  bear  her 
company. 

To-night  she  had  plenty  of  thoughts ;  they  crowded 
themselves  upon  her  thick  and  fast,  but  after  half  an 
hour's  tolerance  of  them  she  banished  them  from  her 
with  the  expressive  gesture  of  her  hands,  and  the 
words,  spoken  half  aloud : 

"Well,  I  am  certain  Ethel  is  slowly  losing  her 
mind.  As  if  there  could  be  anything  wrong  in  private 
theatricals!  I  shall  go  on  with  my  sinful  pleasures 
until  —  well,  until  I  begin  to  lose  my  mind,  too,  and 
then  I'll  stop." 


A  MEMENTO.  51 


V. 

A  MEMENTO. 

AS  Mrs.  Randal  and  her  little  family  were  about, 
finishing  their  evening  meal  on  the  day  following 
the  events  recorded  in  our  last  chapter,  the  door-bell 
rang.  Hal  went  to  the  door.  In  a  moment  or  two  he 
re-entered  the  dining-room  bearing  a  large  paper  par- 
cel, much  resembling  a  band-box  in  shape,  in  his  hand. 

"Miss  Megda  Randal,  Presented,"  he  read  aloud, 
and  handed  the  package  to  Meg  with  a  low  bow  and 
the  words,  "A  Jack-in-the-box,  Girlie." 

Meg  received  the  package  with  big,  dark  eyes. 

"What  can  it  be?"  said  Elsie,  looking  vastly  inter- 
ested. Mrs.  Randal  was  almost  as  curious  as  her 
children  and  all  waited  impatiently  while  Meg  undid 
the  fastenings  and  opened  the  bundle.  When  she 
had  broken  the  string  and  commenced  to  take  off  the 
paper  a  laugh  began  to  grow  in  her  eyes  and  around 
her  mouth,  while  her  pale  cheek  flushed  pink.  A 
suspicion  of  what  was  in  the  parcel  had  flashed  across 


52  MEGDA. 


her  mind,  and  still  she  was  rather  doubtful  of  the 
suspicion  being  correct. 

"He  wouldn't  do  it  —  I  know  he  wouldn't,  he  was 
only  in  fun,"  she  said  to  herself;  and  then  —  a  burst 
of  laughter  from  Hal,  an  exclamation  of  surprise  from 
the  mother  and  Elsie,  and  Meg  found  herself  staring 
at  a  hat  —  a  gentleman's  hat  —  a  battered,  misshapen, 
tipsy-looking  hat  —  in  fact,  the  very  hat  she  had 
helped  to  capture,  and  alas !  to  ruin  the  night  before. 

"You  look  almost  as  crushed  as  the  hat,  Girlie," 
said  Hal  teasingly.  "But  I  don't  wonder,  I  should 
think  you  would  when  you  look  upon  your  heartless 
work." 

Meg  shook  the  poor  thing  at  her  laughing  brother. 
"Don't  you  dare,  Hal  Randal,"  she  said. 

"Dare  what?" 

"Remind  me  of  my  dreadful  mishap." 

"It  isn't  I  who  am  reminding  you  of  it;  it's  the 
hat." 

Meg  doubled  up  her  little  fist  and  gave  the  hat  a 
vicious  poke. 

"Don't,  Girlie,"  groaned  Hal.  "It  has  suffered 
sufficiently  from  your  —  your  —  your  fist  now.  Dear 
me,  little  one,  how  many  pounds  do  you  weigh?" 
Then,  very  anxiously :  "  I  say,  Girlie,  has  that 
been  sent  to  you  as  a  gentle  hint  that  a  new  one 


A   MEMENTO.  53 


would  be  very  acceptable  ?  I  really  think  you  ought 
to  have  offered  to  make  it  good.  Let  me  see  —  is  the 
number  inside  ? "  and  Hal  left  his  seat  and  approached 
Meg  with  the  liveliest  interest  expressed  on  his  face. 

Meg  gave  his  curly  hair  a  sharp  pull  as  he  bent  his 
head  over  the  hat.  "  Behave,  Hal.  Haven't  you  any 
sense  at  all  ?  Oh,  dear  me,  mother,  whoever  would 
think  that  Mr.  Stanley  would  do  such  a  silly  thing  as 
this ! " 

"There's  a  note,"  said  Hal,  poking  his  finger  under 
the  lining. 

Meg  took  it  and  read  aloud : 

"Mr.  Stanley  presents  his  compliments  to  Miss 
Randal  and  begs  her  to  accept  this  reminder  of  a 
most  pleasant  '  adventure '  in  the  same  spirit  in  which 
it  is  given." 

Hal  groaned.     "  And  he  a  minister !  " 

Meg  looked  up  inquiringly.  Hal  proceeded  to 
explain. 

"That  hat  didn't  cost  less  than  two  dollars  and  fifty 
cents,  and  he  pretends  to  call  it,  in  its  present  state, 
a  pleasant  reminder.  Well,  he  may  be  sincere  in 
what  he  says,  but  I  doubt  it.  He  must  have  more  of 
a  'cash  supply'  than  I  have." 

"Oh,  you  let  Laurie  sit  down  on  your  hat  —  your 
silk  one,  too  —  and  you  would  keep  it  in  a  glass  case 


54  MEGDA. 


ever  after  to  feast  your  eyes  upon,"  retorted  Meg,  a 
little  flushed. 

Elsie  took  the  hat  and  looked  at  it  thoughtfully. 

"Trying  to  ascertain  its  original  shape,  sister?" 
asked  Hal. 

Elsie  smiled.  "  No,  I  was  thinking  what  a  strange 
thing  it  was  for  Mr.  Stanley  to  do." 

"You  mistake,"  said  Hal,  gravely.  "Mr.  Stanley 
did  not  do  it.  Girlie  did  it." 

"Hal!" 

Hal  caught  Meg  as  she  flew  at  him  and  drew  her 
down  on  his  knee. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that,"  said  Elsie.  "  I  meant  his 
sending  it  to  Meg.  It  seems  so  unlike  him ;  or 
rather  what  I  had  imagined  him  to  be." 

"Has  he  gone  down  in  your  estimation,  sister?" 
asked  Meg,  laughing.  "  I  will  confess,  although  I 
have  not  made  a  very  minute  study  of  his  character  as 
you  have  appeared  to  do,  that  I  am  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  his  actions.  I  did  think  he  was  too  dignified 
to  have  such  foolish  actions,"  and  Meg  turned  up  her 
nose  scornfully. 

"I  do  not  see  that  his  doing  this  is  necessarily 
deteriorating  to  his  dignity,"  replied  Elsie,  gently. 
"  It  has  not  made  me  think  any  the  less  of  him  ;  it 
has  only  surprised  me," 


A   MEMENTO.  55 


"  What  do  you  say  about  it,  mother  ?  "  asked  Meg. 

"From  what  I  have  seen  of  Mr.  Stanley,"  said  Mrs. 
Randal,  "I  have  been  greatly  pleased.  He  impressed 
me  very  favorably  the  first  time  I  heard  him  preach. 
I  am  quite  satisfied  as  to  his  perfect  gentlemanliness, 
and  am  sure  that  he  would  do  nothing  in  the  least  way 
questionable.  He  has  done  this  from  a  pure  spirit  of 
fun ;  you  know,  Meg,  ministers  are  human  as  well  as 
the  rest  of  us,  and  suppose  you  receive  it  in  the  same 
spirit.  Doesn't  his  note  request  that  ?  " 

Meg's  eyes  were  dancing  now.  "  Yes,  mother ;  but 
what  do  you  think  about  his  keeping  my  ribbon  ?  Do 
you  not  object  to  that  ? " 

Mrs.  Randal  shook  her  head  at  Meg.  "Oh,  you 
naughty  girl,  you  are  going  to  throw  my  maxims  and 
theories  back  to  me.  I  understand  you.  I  have 
talked  to  you  and  sister  so  many  times  about  what 
your  behavior  before  young  gentlemen  should  be.  I 
am  not  going  back  on  my  theories  at  all.  My  girls 
know  what  I  wish  of  them  ;  they  know 'that  the  desire 
of  their  mother's  heart  is  that  they  shall  grow  to  be 
good,  pure,  noble-minded  women,  respecting  them- 
selves and  thus  commanding  respect  from  all  with 
whom  they  come  in  contact.  I  trust  you  both,  fully, 
and  am  more  thankful  than  I  can  tell,  that  I  am  able 
to  do  so." 


56  MEGDA. 


The  laugh  had  faded  from  Meg's  eyes  and  given 
place  to  a  serious  look,  while  Elsie's  filled  with  tears 
as  she  said  earnestly  : 

"And  I  think,  mother,  that  that  very  trust  which 
you  place  in  us,  does  more  toward  making  us  try  to 
become  what  you  would  like  to  have  us  be  than 
almost  anything  else  would."  Elsie  wanted  to  say 
"except  your  prayers,"  but  she  was  afraid  Meg 
would  laugh  at  her. 

"Then  I  am  more  glad,  if  possible,  than  ever  that  I 
can  and  do  trust  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Randal,  lovingly. 
"  I  pity  any  mother  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  who 
cannot  put  trust  in  her  children.  She  must  be  a 
most  unhappy  woman." 

"But  don't  you  think,  mother,"  said  Hal,  who  had 
been  listening  very  attentively,  "  that  it  is  often  the 
mother's  fault  that  she  cannot  trust  her  child?" 

Meg  pulled  his  ear,  and  said  emphatically,  "Not 
when  she  is  such  a  mother  as  ours  is." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,"  replied  Hal  heartily. 
"But  our  mother  is  just  a  little  above  the  average, 
as  you  will  agree  with  me.  Everybody  is  not  blessed 
with  as  good  a  mother  as  we  are,  and  that  is  why  I 
asked  the  question  that  I  did,  and  if  I  am  not  greatly 
mistaken  our  mother  agrees  with  me.  How  is  it, 
mother?" 


A   MEMENTO.  57 


"  I  do  agree  with  you,  Hal,  to  a  certain  extent.     A 
mother  is  sometimes  so  afraid  of  trusting  her  child, 
and  that  child,  unless  she  is  possessed  of  more  than  the 
usual  amount  of  pride,  deceives  her  mother,  sometimes 
unnecessarily  so,   for  the  very   reason   that   she  has 
never  been  taught  any  better.     Her  mother  has  never 
trusted  her,  has  never  encouraged  her  to  go  to   her 
and  ask  her  permission  in  little  things  as  well  as  great 
ones,  teaching  her  and  proving  to  her  gradually,  that 
whatever  is  best  for  her,  the  mother  will  surely  do. 
These  mothers   have  their  laws   and  by-laws,   so   to 
speak ;  their  children  are  made  acquainted  with  them 
early  in  life,  and  also  with  the  fact  that  these  laws 
must  be  obeyed  without  any  questions  being  asked ;  if 
they  are  not,  then  punishment  will  come  quick  and 
sure.     Some  mothers  follow  this  idea  with  the  very 
best  of  intentions  ;  they  really  think  it  is  the  only  way 
in  which  a  child  can  be  virtually  brought  up.     Others 
do  it  through  sheer  ignorance  —  they  do  not  know  any 
better.     But   then,   it   is   just   as   certainly   true  that 
some    children's    natures    are    such    that    the    "trust 
method  "  would  be  the  very  worst  one  for  a  parent  to 
follow.     We  cannot  judge  in  a  matter  of  this  kind; 
we  do  not  know  what  either  child  or  mother  has  to 
contend  with.      Let  us  be   content   in   knowing  that 
God  watches  over  all  with  equal  love  and  care ;  that, 


58  MEGDA. 


when  he  bestows  the  blessed  crown  of  motherhood 
upon  any  woman  he  gives  with  it  the  power  and 
endurance  to  keep  each  little  jewel  bright  and 
unsullied." 

"Mother,"  said  Meg,  " don't  you  think  that  God 
sometimes  punishes  a  mother  through  her  child  ? " 

"Yes,  Meg,  but  the  punishment  is  never  unjust,  it 
is  always  deserved.  And  such  cases  go  to  prove  to 
us  that,  no  matter  how  early  in  life  we  commit  sin,  we 
shall  certainly  be  punished  for  it  sometime  before  we 
die ;  the  punishment  may  not  come  until  after  many 
years,  but  it  will  certainly  come." 

"  I  know  that  each  sinful  action, 

As  sure  as  the  night  brings  shade, 
Is  somewhere,  sometime  punished, 
Tho'  the  hour  be  long  delayed." 

quoted  Meg.  "  You  seem  to  be  of  the  same  opinion 
as  our  over-effusive  poetess,  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox, 
mother." 

"  That  each  sorrow  hath  its  purpose, 
By  the  sorrowing  oft  unguessed ; 
But  as  sure  as  the  sun  brings  morning 
Whatever  is,  is  best." 

added  Elsie,  softly.  "Why  don't  you  quote  the 
pleasantest  part,  Girlie?" 

"  Because  there  was  not  so  much  relation  between 
that  and  what  mother  said  as  the  part  I  gave.  But 


A   MEMENTO.  59 


you  might  know  that  you  would  bring  in  the  pleasant- 
est  parts,  sister  —  that  seems  to  be  your  forte." 

"And  a  most  praiseworthy  one  it  is,  too,"  remarked 
Hal.     "I  wish  there  were  more  of  sister's  stamp  — 
life  would  be  more  enjoyable." 

Meg  turned  and  looked  closely  into  Hal's  face. 

"I  mean  it,  Girlie,"  he  said,  smiling  a  little  at  her 
surprised  look. 

Meg  clasped  her  little  hands  together  with  a 
despairing  gesture.  "Don't  tell  me  you  are  growing 
serious,  Hal,"  she  said,  entreatingly.  "Half  of  my 
enjoyment  in  life  will  be  ruined  if  you  do." 

"Why?  Can't  I  be  serious  and  still  be  pleasant 
company  ?" 

"No,  you  can't;  I  dislike  serious  people." 

"  No,  you  don't,  Girlie ;  I  have  heard  you  say  many 
times  that  you  had  no  respect  for  gentlemen,  or  ladies 
either,  who  never  had  a  thought  above  dress  and  good 
times,  and  who  couldn't  do  anything  but  giggle  and 
talk  silly  nonsense.  You  admired  character  —  you 
respected  high  ideas  and  lofty  desires  and  noble  pur- 
suits ;  you  despised  weakness  " 

"Hal,  do  stop  being  ridiculous,"  interrupted  Meg, 
rising  to  her  feet,  for  Hal  had  repeated  the  words  she 
so  often  used  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  resembled  her 
own  very  much,  holding  his  head  very  high  and  just 


60  MEGDA. 


a  little  to  one  side  and  curling  his  lips  exactly  as 
Meg  did.  His  imitation  of  her  was  so  good  that  it 
made  them  all  laugh. 

Meg  stood  up  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  struck 
her  hands  together ;  this  action  was  always  considered 
a  sort  of  prelude  to  a  speech. 

"The  curtain  rises,"  said  Hal,  sotto  voice.  "Act 
I,  Scene  III." 

Meg  gave  him  a  withering  glance  and  commenced : 
"You  are  right,  Hal.  I  do  admire  character  in  a  man 
or  woman ;  I  make  no  distinction  between  the  two 
sexes.  There  is  no  reason  why  a  woman  should  not 
possess  character  as  well  as  a  man.  I  hold  that  there 
is  more  real  moral  character  in  a  woman's  little  finger 
than  in  a  man's  whole  body.  But  we  will  waive  that 
question  for  the  present ;  I  will  speak  of  men  and 
women  collectively  now,  not  individually,  putting 
woman  where  she  ought  always  to  be  put  —  on  a 
basis  with  man.  I  say  I  admire  character  and  con- 
sider no  person  worthy  of  my  or  any  other  rational 
being's  notice  who  does  not  possess  it.  Right  here 
let  me  warn  you  against  confounding  character  with 
reputation.  Reputation  is  one  thing,  character  is 
another.  The  world  may  take  your  reputation  from 
you,  but  it  cannot  take  your  character.  I  despise 
a  person  of  little  mind  —  one  might  as  well  not. 


A   MEMENTO.  61 


have  any.  I  would  not  thank  anyone  to  always 
think  as  I  do;  say  'yea'  to  my  yea  and  'nay'  to 
my  nay.  I  do  not  deny  that  it  is  very  pleasant  to 
have  your  own  way  —  never  to  meet  with  opposition  — 
but  I  am  quite  sure  that  such  an  order  of  things  would 
soon  prove  monotonous.  What  is  the  use  of  people's 
living  if  they  do  not  give  an  opinion  of  their  own 
once  in  a  while?  They  might  as  well  be  born  deaf- 
mutes,  and  be  governed  entirely  by  one  superior  mind 
—  the  president,  for  instance;  only  I  am  afraid  he 
would  be  even  a  more  tortured  man  than  he  is  now  — 
I  have  no  patience  with  these  people  who  never  give 
an  original  expression  to  an  original  idea,  but  who 
sit  calmly  down  with  folded  hands  and  say,  'Oh,  it 
makes  no  difference  to  me  —  do  just  as  you  think  best 
and  I  shall  be  satisfied.'  Satisfied!  Do  they  know 
what  the  word  means?"  Here  Meg  broke  suddenly 
off  to  say  rather  sharply:  ''What  are  you  grinning 
at,  Hal  ?  What  have  I  said  that  strikes  you  as  so 
amusing  ?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Girlie,"  replied  Hal,  a  little 
disconcerted  at  the  unexpected  turn  Meg's  eloquence 
had  taken.  "But  I  was  thinking  that  the  people  you 
were  then  describing,  very  much  resembled  those 
with  whom  you  associate.  So  much  so,  in  fact,  that 
I  should  think  them  the  originals  of  the  thought." 


62  MEGDA. 


"Yes,"  parroted  Meg,  "so  much  so,  that  they  are 
the  very  ones  I  mean." 

Hal  opened  his  eyes.  "But  surely  you  have 
respect  for  them,  Girlie." 

Meg  made  her  little  outward  motion  with  her  hands. 

"You  mean  to  say  that  you  have  no  respect  for 
Dell  and  Laurie  and  May  and  Holmes  and  Duncan 
and  all  the  rest  of  your  devoted  subjects  and  humble 
admirers,  Meg  Randal  ? " 

Again  the  outward  motion  of  the  hands.  Hal 
leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Then,  if  you  have  no  respect  for  them,  why  are 
you  so  intimate  with  them  ?  I,  myself,  can  scarcely 
acknowledge  a  person  whom  I  do  not  respect,  as  an 
acquaintance,  much  less  could  I  call  him  friend." 

Meg  looked  quickly  at  her  brother ;  she  could  not 
remember  of  his  ever  speaking  to  her  in  that  way 
before ;  then  she  braced  herself  for  the  battle,  determ- 
ined not  to  be  beaten,  even  if  she  had  to  give  expres- 
sion to  some  ideas  which  she  had  not  yet  been  able 
to  make  her  mind  up  to,  whether  they  were  right  or 
wrong.  She  would  hold  her  own  and  still  she  would 
do  it  more  in  fun  than  in  earnest,  just  to  find  out 
what  Hal's  ideas  really  were;  he  very  seldom  gave 
any  of  them  a  chance  of  finding  out. 


COMPARING   NOTES.  63 


VI. 

COMPARING  NOTES. 

F^ERHAPS  your  ideas  of  respect  and  mine  differ 
Hal." 

"  Respect  is  respect  and  nothing  else.  There  can 
be  but  one  definition  to  it." 

"And  that  is?" 

"To  esteem." 

"And  esteem  is?" 

"To  respect." 

Meg  laughed.  "Very  good,  Hal.  I'll  originate 
another  definition,  one  more  suited  to  my  own  feeling. 
Respect  is  tolerance." 

"It  may  be  —  it  must  be  with  you  —  if  you  feel 
toward  your  —  your  —  what  shall  I  call  them  ?  your 
acquaintances  ? " 

"No,  no,  friends;  my  friends." 

Hal  smiled  disdainfully.  "Your  friends,  then. 
Give -me  an  analysis  of  your  feelings  toward  them, 


64  MEGDA. 


Meg.  I  must  confess  you  have  rather  excited  my 
curiosity." 

"And  your  disgust,  too,  if  one  is  to  judge  from  the 
expression  of  your  face.  Well,  Hal,  I  shall  have  to 
take  them  individually.  I'll  begin  with  Laurie." 

Hal  blushed.  Meg,  not  seeming  to  notice  it, 
proceeded : 

"My  'liking'  for  my  friends  will  take  the  three 
degrees  of  comparison  —  positive,  comparative  and 
superlative.  To  begin  :  I  like  Laurie ;  like  her  very 
much.  I  can  use  no  stronger  term,  for  to  love  any 
one  it  is  quite  necessary  for  me  to  find  perfect  satis- 
faction in  that  one.  Laurie  comes  very  far  from  that. 
She  lacks  firmness  of  mind,  independence  of  thought 
and  action ;  she  is  too  easily  led.  She  depends  too 
much  upon  the  support  of  others  ;  she  does  not  think 
for  herself.  She  has  no  mind.  She  is  more  like  a 
pretty,  soft,  white  kitten  " 

"You  have  estimated  Laurie's  value  sufficiently, 
Meg,"  interrupted  Hal,  who  had  grown  quite  pale. 
"For  your  dearest  friend,  you  rate  her  rather  low. 
Pass  on  to  Dell,  please." 

"There  is  no  difference  in  my  liking  for  Dell  and 
Laurie.  I  think  just  as  much  of  one  as  I  do  the 
other ;  my  liking  for  them  both  is  of  the  comparative 
degree.  Yet  I  respect  Dell  more  than  I  do  Laurie. 


COMPARING  NOTES.  65 

I  admire  her  spirit ;  there  is  <  true  grit '  there.  She 
is  honest  to  a  fault ;  she  scorns  deceit  and  despises  a 
liar  as  much  as  I  do.  She  makes  no  pretensions  of 
being  better  than  she  is ;  she  is  not  ashamed  of  hav- 
ing done  a  thing  after  she  has  done  it,  and  if  she  has 
done  wrong  she  is  not  ashamed  to  acknowledge  it. 
In  other  words,  more  forcible  than  elegant,  Dell 
'never  goes  back  on  herself.'  She  is  true  blue 
every  time." 

The  earnestness  with  which  Meg  had  spoken, 
brought  a  flush  to  her  cheek. 

"Yes,"  said  Hal.  "I  admire  Dell  myself;  both 
for  her  great  beauty  and  for  that  quality  of  truthful- 
ness which  she  possesses  to  a  remarkable  degree ;  but 
I  do  not  think  she  is  one  who  would  inspire  deeper 
feelings  in  anyone." 

Meg  laughed.  "  No  ?  She  seems  to  have  done  so 
in  Ed  Holmes." 

Hal  pushed  his  chair  back  impatiently.  "Ed 
Holmes  is  —  a  donkey ! " 

-  "Amen,"  replied  Meg  fervently.  "Dell  has  often 
expressed  her  feelings  for  him  in  the  same  compli- 
mentary manner." 

"How  about  May?"  asked  Hal.  "Of  what  degree 
of  comparison  is  your  liking  for  her?" 

"  Positive.     I  care  very  little  for  May.     She  takes 


66  MEGDA. 


the  same  part  in  my  group  of  friends  as  one  of  the 
background  figures  did  in  that  Japanese  wedding  we 
had  last  Winter;  she  helps  'fill  up.'  I  could  get 
along  without  her  as  far  as  action  is  concerned,  but 
the  group  would  not  be  complete  without  her." 

Meg  noticed  a  look  growing  gradually  in  her 
brother's  face,  deepening  as  she  talked,  that  she  had 
never  seen  there  before,  and  she  saw,  with  her  char- 
acteristic keenness,  that  it  was  a  look  of  pained  sur- 
prise and  bitter  disappointment.  She  was  astonished 
at  her  own  feelings  of  regret  at  seeing  it,  but  what 
she  had  commenced  in  fun  she  was  determined  to 
carry  out  in  earnest. 

"Of  course  you  have  no  respect  and  very  little 
liking  for  any  of  the  gentlemen  of  your  acquaint- 
ance?" remarked  Hal. 

"•Of  course,"  replied  Meg  carelessly. 

"What  of  Maude  Leonard?" 

"Maude  Leonard  I  thoroughly  despise." 

Hal  looked  up  at  the  passionate  tone.  Something 
in  Meg's  face  warned  him  not  to  question  any  more  in 
that  quarter. 

"  And  Ethel  ? "  he  asked.  "  Surely  you  have  always 
paid  her  a  certain  amount  of  the  respect  she  has 
always  demanded  of  every  one." 

For  the  first  time  Meg's  eyes  fell,  and  a  burning 


COMPARING  NOTES.  67 

blush  suffused  her  face.  Hal  was  almost  startled  at 
the  effect  his  words  had  upon  her.  He  did  not  know 
what  a  feeling  of  shame  filled  the  girlish  heart  at  his 
innocent  thrust.  But  Meg  was  honor  itself;  she 
would  not  sully  her  lips  with  a  lie.  What  she  thought, 
she  would  say. 

"  I  honor  and  respect  Ethel  Lawton  above  all  my 
acquaintances.  I  am  proud  to  think  she  has  called 
me  her  friend." 

Hal  was  completely  at  a  loss  to  understand  his 
sister. 

"Then  why  do  you  not  let  her  continue  to  call  you 
friend  ?  She  would  gladly  do  it." 

Meg's  voice  was  low  and  full  of  feeling,  but  she 
held  up  her  head  proudly 'and  her  lips  curled  them- 
selves scornfully.  "  Because  I  am  not  worthy,"  she 
said. 

Oh,  what  a  pity  that  someone  —  the  right  someone 
—  had  not  been  there  to  lead  the  girl  out  of  the  tan- 
gled path  of  doubt  and  dark  uncertainty  in  which  she 
was  walking  and  place  her  feet  in  the  narrow,  shining 
way.  Elsie  longed  to,  but  did  not  dare,  and  the 
mother,  with  all  her  grand  ideas  and  lofty  principles, 
shrank  from  wounding  her  child's  feelings  in  pointing 
out  to  her  wherein  she  was  wrong.  A  mistaken  love, 
too  often  met  with  in  this  beautiful  world  of  ours. 


MEGDA. 


If  Hal  had  only  known  how  Meg's  heart  was  really 
beating  with  its  burden  of  unsatisfied  longing;  how 
she  was  yearning  for  help  and  guidance  in  the  great 
solemn  question  that  is  sure  to  confront  us,  one  and 
all,  sometime  in  our  lives,  and  was  even  now  present- 
ing itself  to  Meg's  heart  to  be  settled  by  her  and  her 
only.  But  Hal,  like  so  many  more,  judged  only  by 
outward  signs  and  was  deceived.  He  saw  only  the 
proudly  lifted  head,  and  the  scornfully  smiling  face ; 
he  did  not  see  the  beating,  troubled  heart ;  if  he  had, 
his  answer  would  certainly  have  been  different. 

"You  carry  your  sarcasm  too  far,  Meg,"  he  said 
sternly.  "  You  certainly  ought  to  respect  religion." 

"  Oh,  Hal !  Girlie  does  respect  religion,"  said  Elsie, 
reproachfully.  "  No  one  can  say  that  she  does  not." 

Elsie  had  seen  the  shade  of  pain  that  had  passed 
over  Meg's  face  at  Hal's  words,  and  her  gentle,  loving 
heart  was  filled  with  pity.  Meg  knew  this,  but  she 
resented  pity  almost  as  much  as  insult,  and  now  she 
crushed  down  the  new,  inexpressible  feeling  that  was 
rising  in  her  heart  and  answered  both  brother  and 
sister  gaily. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  converting  the  dining- 
room  into  a  confessional.  The  subject  of  confession 
is  proving  itself  a  most  tiresome  one  to  me.  I  move 
we  lay  it  aside  until  next  prayer-meeting  night  and 


COMPARING  NOTES.  69 

let  it  be  brought  up  and  discussed  by  those  more 
competent  to  settle  it  than  we;  our  young  converts, 
for  instance,  might  take  it  in  hand  —  they  would  cer- 
tainly go  to  work  on  it  with  all  the  ardor  of  youthful 
Christianity." 

Meg  did  not  mean  to  say  all  this,  but  it  seemed  as 
if  she  had  got  started  and  could  not  stop,  urged  on  as 
she  was  by  the  growing  displeasure  on  Hal's  face. 

"Suppose  we  go  back  to  our  former  subject  —  there 
is  less  danger  of  our  coming  to  swords  points  on  that. 
You  wonder,  Hal,  why  I  can  appear  to  be  so  friendly 
with  people  for  whom  I  have  so  little  respect.  I  do 
not  see  the  necessity  of  my  respecting  a  person  in 
order  to  like  them.  I  suppose  I  do  respect  them  in 
a  certain  sense  of  the  word  —  they  have  qualities  that 
one  must  respect.  What  I  do  not  like  in  them  is 
their  utter  want  of  spirit.  We  will  except  Dell,  for 
she  has  spirit  enough.  They  are  too  dependent; 
they  let  other  people  think  for  them ;  they  have  no 
settled  ideas  of  their  own  about  anything,  or  if  they 
have  they  do  not  give  expression  to  them." 

"Perhaps  if  they  did,"  remarked  Hal  with  a  smile, 
"you  would  not  like  it  any  better  than  the  present 
order  of  things.  You  could  not  queen  it  over  them 
quite  so  royally  as  you  do  now.  Would  you  like 
that  ? " 


70  MEGDA. 


"I  might  not  like  it  quite  so  well,  but  I  should 
respect  them  a  deal  more  than  I  do  now.  I  would 
like  to  be  opposed  in  something  once;  there  would 
be  the  spice  of  novelty  in  it,  at  all  events.". 

"Well,  you  may  meet  somebody  before  many  years 
who  will  oppose  you  enough  in  all  conscience,"  replied 
Hal  with  a  grimace.  "  I  pity  the  poor  fellow,  though, 
with  all  my  heart.  He  must  be  possessed  of  more 
spirit  than  any  young  gentleman  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  knowing." 

"Indeed  and  indeed  !"  drawled  Meg.  "Spare  your 
pity,  my  brother;  no  poor  unfortunate  will  ever  draw 
upon  it  through  any  idiocy  of  mine  —  I'll  promise  you 
that." 

"Girlie,"  said  Hal,  rising  and  putting  a  hand  on 
each  of  her  shoulders  —  Elsie  and  the  mother  had  left 
the  room — "did  you  mean  what  you  said  about"  — 

"About  Laurie?"  interrupted  Meg,  lifting  a  laugh- 
ing face  to  his.  "Yes,  I  did,  Hal,  every  word." 

He  turned  away,  disappointed  and  not  a  little  hurt. 
Meg  ran  after  him  and  put  an  arm  around  his  neck. 

"But  you  know,  Hal,  you  interrupted  me  before  I 
had  finished.  •  May  I  say  the  rest  of  it  now  ? " 

He  nodded,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Well,  then,  if  Laurie  is  a  kitten,  she  is  one  of  the 
sweetest,  most  lovable  kittens  that  ever  purred.  And 


COMPARING  NOTES.  71 

it  is  my  firm  belief  that  she  is  one  grand  exception  in 
the  great  family  of  human  kittens ;  though  she  may 
have  claws  —  and  I  do  not  deny  that  she  has,  there  is 
enough  of  the  human  kitten  about  her  for  that  —  yet 
I  have  never  known  her  to  show  them  to  a  living 
creature ;  and  very  few  are  the  kittens  you  can  say 
that  of,  Hal." 

Hal  stooped  down  and  left  a  kiss  on  the  white  fore- 
head. "  Spoken  like  my  own  generous  little  Girlie," 
he  said  lovingly. 

Meg  returned  the  kiss,  but  in  her  heart  she  could 
not  help  saying :  "  Yes,  -he  calls  me  generous  because 
I  have  praised  Laurie.  Are  all  men  alike,  I  wonder?" 

To  her  mother  she  said  lightly :  "  What  about  the 
ribbon,  mother  ?  Shall  I  allow  Mr.  Stanley  to  keep 
it?" 

"If  you  have  promised  it  to  him,  Meg." 

"Then  I  suppose  he  must  have  it.  I  shall  be  more 
careful  in  the  future  about  making,  contracts  with 
young  gentlemen." 

"It  would  be  as  well,"  said  Hal  with  a  laugh. 


72  MEGDA. 


VII. 

THE  LOST  ESSAY. 

MISS  RANDAL,  why  did  you  not  prepare  your 
essay  this  week?" 

"  I  did  prepare  it,  madam." 

"Then  I  have  overlooked  it.  I  did  not  find  it 
among  those  left  on  my  desk." 

"It  was  not  there,  madam." 

Madam  de  Crando  looked  very  sharply  at  Meg. 
"Explain  yourself,  Miss  Randal." 

"  I  prepared  my  essay,  madam,  but  instead  of  tak- 
ing it  home  last  night  as  I  generally  do,  I  left  it  in 
my  desk,  shut  up  in  my  folio  —  and  when  I  looked 
for  it  this  morning  it  was  gone." 

Madam  de  Crando  had  no  reason  to  doubt  Meg's 
word ;  she  knew  her  to  be  perfectly  reliable  at  all 
times,  but  she  could  not  help  feeling  surprised  and 
showing  her  surprise  in  her  face. 

"That  is  very  strange,  Miss  Randal;  you  are  per- 
fectly sure  you  did  not  take  it  home?" 

"Perfectly,  madam." 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  73 

"What  young  lady  is  appointed  first  monitor  this 
week?" 

"Ruth  Dean." 

"  Whom  did  you  leave  in  the  room  last  night  when 
you  went  home  ? " 

"No  one." 

"Was  not  Ruth  there?" 

"  No,  madam ;  she  was  in  the  library,  reading." 

"Did  you  see  any  of  the  other  girls  before  you 
left  ? " 

"  I  passed  Maude  Leonard  in  the  hall  as  I  went  to 
the  dressing-room  and  Laurie  Ray  was  waiting  for  me 
in  the  < study'." 

Meg  could  not  help  noticing  how  Madam  de 
Crando  passed  over  the  mention  of  Maude's  name  and 
seized  upon  Laurie's. 

"I  suppose  she  is  sure  that  such  a  high-souled 
creature  as  Miss  Leonard  would  never  think  of  such 

A 

a  thing  as  taking  what  doesn't  belong  to  her;  the 
bare  idea  would  make  the  pure-minded  Maude  faint," 
thought  Meg. 

"Did  Miss  Ray  remain  in  the  *  study'  until  you 
were  ready  to  join  her? " 

Meg's  blood  boiled  at  the  question  and  the  insin- 
uation it  contained,  but  she  answered  calmly,  "No, 
madam." 


74  MEGDA. 


"  Ah !  do  you  know  where  she  went  ?  " 

"You  think  you  have  the  culprit  now,  don't  you?" 
thought  Meg  sarcastically.  Aloud  she  said:  "Yes, 
madam,  she  went  to  the  dressing-room  with  me  and 
remained  there  until  I  was  ready ;  we  passed  out  of 
the  building  together  and  Laurie  did  not  leave  me 
until  we  reached  her  own  gate.  I  am  quite  positive 
she  did  not  return  to  the  school  again,  as  my  brother 
called  at  her  home  shortly  after  tea  and  found  her 
with  one  of  her  sick  headaches.  She  had  been  taken 
with  it  a  few  moments  after  she  had  entered  the 
house  and  had  immediately  gone  to  bed." 

Meg  gave  this  very  minute  explanation  with  the 
most  innocent  of  faces.  Madam  de  Crando  looked  at 
her  closely  every  minute,  but  could  detect  nothing 
either  in  Meg's  looks  or  manner  that  she  could  object 
to,  and  yet  she  felt  almost  sure  that  the  girl  was 
laughing  at  her. 

"Very  well,  Miss  Randal,"  she  said,  somewhat 
stiffly.  "I  will  excuse  you  for  the  present.  I  am 
very  sorry  this  thing  has  happened,  and  if  we  succeed 
in  finding  your  essay,  as  I  trust  we  shall,  I  shall  be 
more  glad  than  I  can  say.  But  wait  one  moment, 
please." 

She  pressed  the  electric  button  beside  her  desk, 
and  to  the  girl  who  responded  to  the  call  she  said, 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  75 

"Find  Miss  Dean  and  send  her  to  me  immediately, 
please." 

In  a  few  moments  the  door  again  opened  and  a 
small,  slight,  dark-faced  girl  entered  the  room.  Her 
face  had  no  beauty  in  it  except  the  beauty  of  expres- 
sion—  which  to  my  mind,  is  the  best  kind  of  beauty  — 
and  her  dress,  though  wonderfully  neat,  was  undeni- 
ably shabby  and  bore  in  every  little  shining  fold  and 
wrinkle  the  unmistakable  fact  that  "  it  was  an  old  one 
made  over."  As  she  came  into  the  room  her  dark 
eyes,  that  always  wore  such  a  dreamy,  far-away  look, 
as  if  they  saw  not  the  things  they  rested  upon,  bright- 
ened and  shone  with  a  pleased  light  as  they  fell  upon 
Meg.  They  were  beautiful  eyes,  though  they  always 
had  the  effect  of  filling  other  people's  —  over-sensitive 
people's,  perhaps  —  with  tears  when  they  looked  at 
them. 

Meg  smiled  brightly  back  to  her  and  put  out  her 
little,  white  hand  under  cover  of  madam's  desk.  Ruth 
took  it  in  her  own  dark,  work-worn  one,  and  so  they 
stood  before  their  stern-featured  preceptress. 

Madam  told  Ruth  in  a  few  words  why  she  had 
been  sent  for,  and  then  said,  "  Can  you  enlighten  us 
any,  Miss  Dean? " 

Ruth,  who  had  grown  quite  pale  when  madam 
commenced  to  talk,  but  had  now  regained  her  self- 


76  MEGDA. 


possession  —  probably  encouraged  by  the  warm  pres- 
sure of  those  small,  white  fingers  around  hers  — 
looked  her  questioner  squarely  in  the  face  and  said 
firmly : 

"No,  madam,  I  know  nothing  of  the  essay." 

"You  have  not  seen  it  at  all?" 

"No,  madam." 

"Very  strange,"  murmured  madam.  "You  were 
the  last  in  the  school-room,  were  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  last  in  the  school-room,  but  not  last 
in  the  building." 

"  Indeed !     Whom  did  you  leave  here  ?  " 

"Maude  Leonard  was  in  the  'senior's  parlor' 
translating  a  French  exercise." 

Madam  frowned,  then  said  shortly,  "Miss  Leonard, 
of  course,  knows  nothing  about  it ;  we  will  not  trouble 
her  by  speaking  to  her  of  it." 

Meg's  lip  curled,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"I  will  excuse  you,  Miss  Randal,  but  Miss  Dean 
will  remain  a  few  moments." 

Meg  gave  Ruth's  hand  a  parting  pressure  and  left 
the  room  with  a  very  haughty  step.  Madam  looked 
after  her  with  an  approving  smile.  She  admired  and 
respected  Meg  more  than  any  other  young  lady  in  her 
school. 

Meg  collided  with  some  one  the  instant  she  opened 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  77 

the  door  leading  into  the  hall.  She  stepped  back  into 
the  room  again  and  said  in  a  ringing  voice : 

"  Did  you  wish  to  speak  with  madam,  Maude  ? " 

Madam  left  her  chair  and  went  to  the  door.  She 
saw  Meg  and  Maude  standing  just  outside  the  door. 
Meg  looked  downright  wicked  and  Maude  very  much 
embarrassed. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  madam. 

Before  Maude  could  speak,  Meg  said:  "When  I 
opened  the  door  Maude  fell  against  me.  I  presume 
she  was  waiting  for  you  to  be  at  liberty  that  she 
might  speak  with  you,  probably  about  the  lost 
essay." 

Not  one  of  the  other  girls  would  have  dared  to  say 
that.  Madam,  indeed,  looked  a  trifle  displeased. 

"  Miss  Randal !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  reproving  tone; 
but  Meg  was  looking  at  Maude,  who  had  by  this  time 
regained  her  self-control  and  was  looking  with  inno- 
cent, surprised  eyes,  first  at  Meg,  then  at  madam. 
To  be  sure,  the  rich  color  that  was  always  in  her  dark 
cheek  was  deepened  somewhat,  and  her  eyes  dwelt 
longer  on  madam's  face  than  on  Meg's,  but  she  looked 
quite  innocent  when  she  said  in  her  low,  soft  voice : 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  but  I  do  not  understand. 
Has  some  one  lost  an  essay  ? " 

"Miss  Randal  can  not  find  hers.     I  did  not  mean 


78  MEGDA. 


to  trouble  you  about  it,  Miss  Leonard.  Of  course  you 
know  nothing  of  it  ? " 

"No,  madam." 

"Oh,  little  Ruth,  little  Ruth,"  said  Meg  to  herself, 
"why  could  you  not  have  been  born  rich  and  wicked, 
instead  of  so  poor  and  so  good  ? " 

"I  was  quite  sure  you  did  not,"  continued  madam. 
"Would  you  like  to  see  me  about  anything ? " 

"Not  if  you  are  engaged,  madam,"  replied  Maude, 
sweetly.  "  A  little  later  will  do  as  well." 

"  Yes,  after  you  find  something  to  come  to  her  for, 
you  —  Christian,"  thought  Meg,  fiercely. 

"I  can  see  you  now  perfectly  well,  Miss  Leonard," 
said  madam.  "Miss  Dean,  you  may  go  into  the 
reception-room  until  I  send  for  you.  Miss  Randal, 
you  are  excused." 

Meg  bowed  and  passed  out,  giving  Maude  the  most 
scornful  of  all  her  scornful  looks  as  she  did  so. 
Maude,  not  seeming  to  notice  it,  followed  madam  into 
her  office  with  her  usual  soft,  sweet  smile. 

Meg  passed  through  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs  so 
quickly  that  she  did  not  hear  Laurie's  call,  and  entered 
the  library.  She  drew  hastily  back  when  she  saw 
who  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  great  easy  chairs  drawn 
up  before  the  open  grate.  The  library  and  senior's 
parlor  both  contained  an  open  grate,  and  a  fire  was 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  79 

kept  burning  in  them  three  seasons  out  of  the  four. 
Madam  thought  they  made  the  rooms  look  more 
cheerful  and  inviting,  and  I  am  sure  she  was  right. 
"Come  in,  Girlie,"  cried  Ethel,  rising  from  her  chair 
with  a  glad  smile  on  her  fair,  delicate  face.  But  Meg 
called  back  as  she  hurried  away : 

"No,  thanks;  I  made  a  mistake." 

"  And  a  pretty  big  mistake,  too,"  she  added  to  her- 
self, as  she  ran  up  another  flight  of  stairs  that  led  to 
the  dressing-rooms.  "The  biggest  mistake  I  ever 
made  in  my  life." 

Poor  child !  She  was,  indeed,  making  a  huge  mis- 
take, but  it  was  a  different  one  from  the  one  she  had 
in  her  mind. 

"  To  think  that  Ethel  Lawton  could  leave  me  and 
the  rest  of  the  girls  —  every  one  of  whom  are  miles 
and  miles  above  that  —  that  female  Judas  down  stairs 
—  because  her  principles  will  not  allow  her  to  keep 
such  bad  company  as  we  are ;  we  do  things  that  shock 
her  sense  of  right ;  we  are  not  fit  for  the  society  of 
pure-minded,  high-souled  creatures  like  her  and  Maude 
Leonard.  Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  think  of  going  into  the 
room  where  you  are,  Ethel,  for  fear  my  breath  would 
taint  the  air  you  breath.  Call  Maude  in  when  she 
gets  through  lying  to  madam,  and  her  presence  will 
bring  peace  and  happiness  to  you.  Angelic  creature ! 


80  MEGDA. 


Noble-minded  Christian!  Oh,  that  the  world,  held 
more  like  her ! " 

Meg  was  growing  tragic.  She  walked  the  long  hall 
with  quick,  impatient  steps,  her  hands  making  violent 
gestures. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  Meg,  are  you  practicing  your  part  of 
'  Lady  Macbeth '  ?  You  look  savage  enough  to  do 
murder  in  earnest.  *  Is  the  deed  done  ?  Has  Duncan 
drawn  his  last  ? '  I'm  not  sure  that  those  are  the  pre- 
cise words,  but  then  I  haven't  the  immortal  William 
at  my  tongue's  end,  as  you  have,"  and  Laurie  came 
panting  up  the  stairs  with  something  white  in  her 
hand. 

Meg  turned  impatiently,  though  not  the  least  "put 
by  "  at  being  caught  in.  her  private  theatricals. 

"No,  the  deed  is  not  done,  though  I  wish  it  were. 
My  fingers  do  itch  to  do  the  bloody  deed.  But  seri- 
ously, Laurie,  I  am  in  a  most  murderous  frame  of 
mind." 

Laurie  drew  back  in  mock  affright.  "Where  is  the 
dagger?"  she  whispered  fearfully. 

"In  my  bosom,"  laughed  Meg.  "Don't  you  see 
the  handle  sticking  out  ? "  and  she  drew  a  lead  pencil 
from  between  the  buttons  of  her  basque. 

"But  seriously,  Laurie"  —for  the  second  time — "I 
feel  downright  wicked,  and  when  I  tell  you  the  circum- 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  81 

stances  of  the  case,  you'll  see  I  have  good  cause.  You 
know  I  finished  my  essay  yesterday  afternoon  about 
half-past  two;  my  subject  was:  'Nature  and  Art.' 
I  put  Nature  before  Art  every  time.  Well,  I  did  not 
take  the  essay  home  as  I  generally  do,  for  I  was  afraid 
I  might  forget  to  bring  it  this  morning.  I  have  done 
so  before  and  had  to  send  Tommie  for  it,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  private  lecture  from  madam  on  forget- 
fulness.  When  I  looked  for  it  this  noon  it  was  gone. 
The  question  is,  '  Who  has  taken  it  ? '  Someone 
beyond  a  doubt,  as  it  could  not  walk  off  by  itself.  I 
endeavored  to  endow  it  with  various  superior  qualities, 
but  the  power  of  infusing  motion  into  its  pages  was 
beyond  me." 

Here  Laurie  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  Meg 
stopped  her  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  and  again  began 
her  excited  walk  up  and  down  the  hall,  Laurie  trotting 
along  beside  her  to  take  her  chance  of  saying  a  word 
when  it  should  come.  She  was  "  Mr.  Dick  "  to  Meg's 
"Dr.  Strong." 

"  Laurie,  I  know  Maude  Leonard  took  that  essay ! 
I  feel  positive  of  it.  She  had  no  motive  for  doing  so 
—  it  was  done  out  of  pure  meanness.  She  knows  I 
have  never  missed  a  week  since  I  have  been  here  in 
sending  in  my  essay,  and  I  am  the  only  one  of  our 
class  who  can  say  that.  But  if  she  thinks  to  make 


82  MEGDA. 


madam  suspect  me  of  lying  she  will  get  mightily  dis- 
appointed. But  affairs  have  taken  a  more  serious 
turn  than  she  thought  for  —  or  at  least,  an  entirely 
different  one.  Madam  suspects  Ruth  Dean  of  know- 
ing where  the  essay  is.  The  idea !  I  would  stake  my 
life  on  Ruth's  honor.  The  poor  child  is  waiting  in 
the  reception-room  now  until  madam  is  ready  'to 
pass  sentence  upon  her,'  and  Maude  is  in  the  office 
*  asking  madam  about  some  exercise  or  other.'  In 
reality  she  is  getting  off  her  lies  in  regular  wholesale 
fashion.  Poor  little  Ruth!  If  I  had  known  how 
things  were  coming  out  I  would  have  bitten  my 
tongue  off  rather  than  have  said  one  word  about  the 
essay.  I  would  rather  madam  would  have  thought  I 
had  not  prepared  one.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  find  it." 

Meg  was  really  very  much  excited.  She  clenched 
her  little  hands  together  and  stamped  her  foot  as 
Laurie  commenced  again  to  say  something. 

"  I  tell  you,  Laurie,  it  is  a  deadly  shame  that  such 
things  are  allowed.  Why  are  such  persons  as  Maude 
Leonard  allowed  to  exist  ?  She  is  a  liar,  a  cheat  and 
a  deceiver,  and  everything  else  that  is  bad.  She  is 
utterly  without  principle.  This  is  not  the  first  time 
by  any  manner  of  means  that  she  has  done  mischief, 
and  every  girl  in  the  building  knows  it.  How  madam 
can  be  so  blind  passes  my  understanding ;  but  I  think 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  83 

the  glitter  of  Maude's  gold  dollars  is  what  causes  part 
of  the  blindness — it  is  too  much  for  madam's  weak 
eyes  —  morally  weak,  you  understand.  But  poor  lit- 
tle Ruth  has  nothing  —  Laurie,  let  me  alone,  I  can't 

» 

stand  still,  I  am  too  angry." 

"Well,  then,"  cried  Laurie,  grown  quite  desperate 
at  not  getting  a  chance  to  say  what  she  wanted  to 
say,  "look  at  it  walking,  then;  it  is  certainly  worth 
your  attention." 

"Laurie  Damon  Ray,  where  in  the  world  did  you 
find  it  ? "  gasped  Meg. 

Laurie  laughed,  she  could  not  help  it.  Meg's  face 
was  a  study  for  a  sculptor. 

"  That  expression  would  make  your  fortune  for  you 
if  you  were  only  on  the  stage,  Meg,"  she  said. 
"Well,  if  you  have  really  decided  to  let  me  speak,  I 
will  tell  you.  I  found  it  in  the  dressing-room  back 
of  the  blind." 

'You  darling!"  exclaimed  Meg,  rapturously,  giving 
the  delighted  Laurie  a  hug,  which  was  a  rare  thing  for 
stately  Meg  to  do.  "She  must  have  laid  it  there 
while  she  was  putting  on  her  things  and  gone  off  and 
forgotten  it,  or,  what  is  more  likely,  left  it  purposely, 
trusting  to  luck  to  keep  it  there  until  it  was  too  late 
to  send  it  in.  She  was  probably  intending  to  take  it 
back  to  my  desk  in  a  day  or  two,  feeling  quite  sure 


84  MEGDA. 


that  I  would  take  it  to  madam  and  say  I  had  found  it 
where  I  had  left  it.  I  wouldn't  have  blamed  madam 
if  she  had  felt  a  little  doubtful  as  to  the  truth  of  such 
a  statement.  But  it  was  a  careless  thing  for  her  to 
do,  for  the  janitor  might  have  found  it.  She  must 
have  been  intending  to  take  it  away  to-night  —  Laurie, 
come  quick." 

Meg  had  been  talking  more  to  herself  than  to 
Laurie,  and  all  at  once  broke  off  in  what  she  was  say- 
ing, and  went  running  down  the  hall  dragging  the 
surprised  Laurie  with  her.  As  they  ran  up  the  stairs 
Meg  whispered : 

"'Sh,  Laurie,  don't  make  a  sound.  Stand  here  at 
the  door  and  don't  let  anyone  come  in." 

Meg  went  into  the  library,  but  soon  returned. 
"Come  back  up  stairs  again,"  she  said, 

Laurie  obeyed  without  a  word  ;  she  was  used  to 
doing  as  Meg  told  her  without  asking  any  questions. 
Meg  seemed  to  think  of  this  and  looked  at  her  with  a 
half-smile. 

"I  wouldn't  have  you  any  different  now  for  the 
whole  world,  you  dear  little  kitten,"  she  said  to 
herself. 

In  a  few  moments  they  heard  the  library  door  close, 
and  voices  calling  to  each  other. 

"Going  my  way,  Lill  ? " 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  85 

"Yes,  if  you'll  wait  a  minute,  Lu." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? " 

"Up  to  the  dressing-room  after  my  reticule." 

"  Hurry  up." 

"Yes." 

Light  feet  came  tripping  up  the  stairs,  the  owner 
humming  a  gay  little  song.  Laurie  and  Meg  heard 
her  go  into  the  dressing-room,  then  in  a  moment 
come  out  and  run  down  stairs.  They  heard  Lulu 
Martin  ask  carelessly : 

"All  the  girls  gone?" 

"No,"  answered  Lill.  "There  are  half  a  dozen 
'belongings'  up  there  —  Meg's  and  Laurie's  and 
Ethel's  and  one  or  two  more." 

The  two  girls  passed  down  into  the  lower  hall,  the 
great  door  slammed,  and  all  was  still  again. 

Meg  and  Laurie  sat  down  on  the  stairs  and  waited. 
The  library  door  again  opened  and  a  slow,  tired  step 
ascended  the  stairs.  Meg  knew  it  was  Ethel,  but  she 
stood  up  and  peeped  over  the  banisters.  There  was 
a  sad  look  on  the  pale  face  as  Meg  caught  sight  of  it 
for  a  brief  moment,  and  a  little  pang  shot  through  her 
heart,  but  she  said  to  herself : 

"I  don't  care  —  she  has  disappointed  me  fearfully. 
I  trusted  her  so  and  thought  her  so  good  and  noble. 
Oh,  Ethel,  how  can  you  be  so  blind ! " 


86  MEGDA. 


She  waited  until  Ethel  came  out  and  passed  down 
the  stairs.  She  leaned  far  over  the  banisters  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  crossed  the  lower  hall, 
then  the  door  clanged  heavily  behind  her  and  Meg  sat 
down  on  the  stairs  again  beside  Laurie. 

Another  fifteen  minutes  passed,  then  the  sound  of 
footsteps  coming  up  the  stairs  called  Meg  up  from 
her  seat  again. 

"  Laurie,  look,"  she  whispered. 

Laurie  stood  up  and  looked  down  the  stairs.  Ruth 
came  slowly  up  the  hall ;  her  face  was  pale,  her  eyes 
red  with  weeping.  The  girls  could  see  how  her 
slight  form  shook  with  heavy  sobs  even  then,  and 
they  looked  at  each  other  with  indignant  faces. 

"What  a  shame!"  said  Laurie,  in  a  low  tone,  but 
Meg  said  never  a  word. 

Ruth  ascended  the  stairs  slowly,  passed  into  the 
dressing-room  and  presently  came  out  again  with  her 
wraps  on.  She  looked  so  sad  and  full  of  trouble  that 
Meg  could  not  bear  it,  and  with  a  whispered,  "  Stay 
here  a  minute,  kitten,"  she  ran  down  the  stairs. 

Ruth  turned  in  surprise,  but  Meg  said  carelessly: 
"I  am  detained  to-night;  am  not  going  just  yet. 
'What  is  the  verdict  ? " 

Ruth's  sobs  came  thick  and  fast.  "I  am  sus- 
pended," she  said. 


THE  LOST  ESSAY.  87 

"  What ! "  Meg  almost  shrieked  the  word  in  her 
surprise  and  indignation. 

"I  am  suspended.  I  do  not  know  what  Maude 
said  to  madam  —  I  do  not  know  as  she  said  anything, 
but  after  she  had  left  the  office,  madam  called  me  in 
and  —  I  cannot  tell  what  she  said,  I  was  so  confused 
and  troubled,  but  she  gave  me  to  understand  that  she 
was  quite  sure  I  had  the  essay  or  could  tell  where  it 
was,  and  until  I  was  ready  to  return  it  to  its  rightful 
owner  I  must  remain  at  home.  Oh,  Meg,  you  know  I 
have  not  gotten  it,  don't  you  ? " 

Meg  was  so  white  with  anger  she  could  scarcely 
speak. 

"Yes,  yes,  Ruthie,  I  know  you  are  innocent,  and 
madam  shall  know  it  before  many  hours.  Let  me 
see." 

Meg  was  almost  undecided  what  to  do ;  at  last  she 
said  :  "  Ruthie,  trust  me.  That  is  all  I  can  say  now. 
Trust  me,"  and  Ruth  answered,  "I  do  trust  you, 
Meg." 

Meg  leaned  over  —  she  was  much  taller  than  Ruth 
—  and  left  a  light  kiss  on  Ruth's  forehead. 

"  Thank  you,  Ruthie.  Now  run  home  and  put  all 
your  trouble  away.  Leave  it  all  with  me." 

"  I  will,  and  with  my  Saviour,  Meg,"  and  Ruth  was 
gone. 


88  MEGDA. 


Those  words,  "and  with  my  Saviour,"  seemed 
to  strike  Meg  dumb.  Was  Ruthie  —  little,  timid, 
shrinking  Ruthie,  who  always  seemed  afraid  to  speak 
aloud  almost,  a  "professor",  too?  Meg  did  not  laugh 
at  the  idea.  The  look  on  the  little,  patient,  dark 
face,  and  the  tone  of  the  low,  earnest  voice  seemed  to 
fill  her  with  a  certain  sense  of  awe. 

"And  with  my  Saviour."  Meg  said  it  over  to  her- 
self two  or  three  times. 

"Meg,"  called  Laurie,  "are  you  asleep?" 

"'And  with  my  Saviour.'  What  is  there  about 
those  four  words  that  makes  me  feel  so  ?  It  can't  be 
the  words  themselves ;  no,  it  was  the  way  in  which 
they  were  spoken.  I  cannot  doubt  Ruth's  goodness, 
and  if  she  is  anything,  she  is  sincere.  Both  goodness 
and  sincerity  will  be  put  to  a  severe  test  shortly. 
Will  she  prove  faithful  ?  If  so,  my  skepticism  will 
receive  a  blow.  In  my  heart  I  pray  she  may." 

Meg  went  back  to  Laurie,  quiet,  and  for  her, 
subdued. 


A  DISCOVERY.  89 


VIII. 

A  DISCOVERY. 

HOW  much  longer  are  you  going  to  stay  here, 
Meg?"  whispered  Laurie.  "I  confess  I  feel 
quite  like  a  'tragedy  character/  but  at  the  same 
time  I  am  human,  and  like  all  the  rest  of  humanity, 
have  a  stomach.  The  fact  is  being  pressed  upon  me 
in  the  most  ravenous  manner." 

Meg  smiled.  "Only  a  few  minutes  longer,  kitten," 
she  said.  "Run  into  the  dressing-room  and  get  my 
lunch-basket;  there  are  some  'duchesse  crackers' 
in  it." 

Laurie  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  was  soon 
leaning  comfortably  back  against  the  wall,  munching 
the  crackers. 

Fifteen  minutes  passed,  a  half  hour.  It  had  grown 
quite  dark  on  the  stairs  and  the  two  girls  felt  chilly 
sitting  there.  Laurie  had  finished  the  crackers  and 
was  growing  restless,  not  to  say  nervous. 


90  MEGDA. 


"It  is  quite  like  a  story,  Meg,"  she  whispered, 
giggling  a  little.  "We  are  like  two  avenging  spirits 
hiding  here,  waiting  to  pounce  upon  the  guilty  one 
when  she  shall  come  forth.  Dear  me !  I  shall  see 
madam's  great-grandmother's  ghost  walking  up  the 
hall  if  I  sit  here  much  longer.  Goodness  !  what  is 
that?" 

Laurie  came  very  near  screaming.  Meg  put  her 
hand  out  and  said,  "'Sh,  she  is  coming." 

After  that  Laurie  had  all  she  could  do  in  watching 
Meg.  As  she  afterward  said,  "  It  was  as  good  as  any 
theater  she  ever  went  to."  I  will  give  what  followed 
as  it  was  seen  with  Laurie's  eyes. 

Meg  leaned  far  over  the  banisters  and  watched  the 
figure  coming  up  toward  them,  with  stern,  dark  eyes. 
Her  face  was  very  white  and  wore  a  pitiless  look. 
Maude  Leonard  —  for  it  was  she  —  ascended  the  stairs 
with  quick,  light  steps.  She  put  her  hand  on  the 
knob  of  the  dressing-room  door,  then  stopped  and 
looked  down.  Meg  could  see  by  the  light  that  fell 
from  the  large  window  that  she  was  smiling ;  then  she 
opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

In  a  second  Meg  had  glided  down. the  stairs  and 
stood  in  the  open  door.  Laurie,  unknown  to  Meg, 
was  just  behind.  Maude  crossed  the  room,  little 
thinking  she  was  not  alone,  and  drew  aside  the  blinds. 


A  DISCOVERY.  91 


A  low  cry  escaped  her.  "It  is  gone,"  she  said 
aloud. 

"It  is  here,"  said  a  voice  that  made  her  almost 
jump  from  the  floor,  and  Meg  stood  before  her,  hold- 
ing out  the  stolen  essay. 

"  Oh,  for  some  red  light ! "  Laurie  could  not  help 
thinking. 

The  two  girls  stood  and  looked  at  each  other 
steadily  for  a  full  minute.  Maude  with  a  flushed, 
guilty  face ;  Meg  with  a  white,  scornful  one.  It 
seemed  for  a  second  as  if  Maude  tried  to  look  defiant, 
but  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  one  more  profi- 
cient in  deception  than  she  to  have  met  boldly  the 
steady,  accusing  light  of  those  dark  eyes.  Meg  was 
brave  because  she  felt  sure  she  was  right.  A  less 
courageous  girl  would  have  trembled  at  what  was 
before  her;  not  so  Meg.  If  she  trembled  at  all  it 
was  with  anger.  Maude  knew  she  would  receive  no 
mercy  at  Meg's  hands.  She  knew  that  to  appear 
sorry  would  but  make  Meg  more  pitiless.  She  there- 
fore dropped  her  assumed  manner  and  put  on  her 
original  one. 

"Well?"  she  said  haughtily. 

"Not  quite  as  well  with  you  as  you  thought  it  was," 
replied  Meg  curtly.  "Your  sin  has  found  you  out 
for  once,  Miss  Leonard.  You  stole  this  essay  from 


92  MEGDA. 


my  desk,  hid  it  behind  that  blind,  and  have  just  now 
been  looking  for  it.  You  need  not  deny  it  —  it 
would  be  useless." 

"I  do  not  intend  to  deny  it."  Maude  could  not 
help  answering  as  she  did  —  the  clear,  dark  eyes  com- 
pelled her  to. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  about  it  ? "  she  asked 
coolly. 

"  You  will  go  to  Ruth  and  acknowledge  to  her  that 
you  took  the  essay." 

Maude  looked  relieved.     "Is  that  all?"  she  asked. 

Meg's  lip  curled.  "No,  it  is  not  all.  You  will 
also  clear  Ruth  in  the  eyes  of  Madam  de  Crando." 

Maude  lifted  her  head  haughtily,  her  face  flushed 
deeply.  "  I  will  not  do  that,  Megda  Randal ;  I  would 
die  first" 

"You  will  do  it." 

"I  will  not." 

For  just  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other,  then 
Meg  said,  clearly  and  firmly:  "Very  well;  as  you 
choose.  I  will  clear  her  myself." 

Maude  Leonard  laughed  scornfully.  "Where  are 
your  proofs,  Miss  Randal  ? " 

"Here  is  one  of  them,"  said  a  timid  voice. 

Both  girls  started,  and  Meg  could  not  repress  a  joy- 
ful little  cry  as  Laurie  came  forward,  and  stood  before 


A  DISCOVERY.  93 


them.  Maude  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
at  the  sight  Laurie's  eyes  filled.  Not  so  Meg's. 

"Laurie,"  she  said,  "will  you  go  to  madam's  sit- 
ting-room and  ask  her  to  step  up  here  for  a  few 
moments?" 

Laurie  turned  to  obey  from  mere  force  of  habit, 
when  Maude,  with  a  low  cry,  sunk  down  on  the  floor 
at  Meg's  feet. 

"Spare  me  that,  Meg,"  she  cried.  "Spare  me  that 
for  my  mother's  sake." 

Meg  looked  down  on  her,  her  face  full  of  scornful 
triumph.  Somehow  it  made  Laurie's  heart  ache  to 
see  that  look  on  the  face  she  loved  so  well.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  disappointed  in  Meg,  but 
she  did  not  say  anything. 

"Meg,"  said  Maude,  lifting  her  face,  from  which  all 
the  rich  colors  had  gone,  "  I  know  there  is  no  use  in 
my  trying  to  deceive  you.  I  will  tell  you  the  truth. 
I  took  the  essay  from  your  desk  last  night,  intend- 
ing to  keep  it  until  Monday  and  then  put  it  back.  I 
was  going  to  do  this  because  I  was  jealous  of  your 
always  having  a  paper  prepared  at  the  right  time,  and- 
of  being  in  such  favor  with  madam.  I  put  it  behind 
the  blind,  feeling  almost  sure  that  no  one  would  find 
it.  Even  if  there  had  I  should  not  have  cared  so  very 
much,  as  it  could  not  have  been  proved  who  put  it 


94  MEGDA. 


there.  I  knew  if  you  made  known  the  loss  of  your 
essay  to  madam  that  her  suspicion  would  rest  upon 
Ruth  Dean,  as  she  is  the  last  girl  in  the  school-room 
every  night  for  this  week.  But,  as  you  say,  my  sin 
has  found  me  out.  I  ask  forgiveness  from  you  with 
all  my  heart,  and  from  Ruth,  too,  but  I  cannot  humble 
myself  in  the  way  of  which  you  speak.  Madam  would 
lose  all  faith  in  me,  would  most  likely  expel  me,  and 
the  disgrace  would  kill  my  mother.  She  is  good,  if  I 
am  not." 

"Yes,"  said  Meg,  "and  deserving  of  a  better 
daughter  than  you.  A  pity  you  did  not  think  of  her 
heart  before.  What  of  Ruth's  mother?  What  of  her 
heart  ?  She  has  none,  I  suppose ;  poor  people  cannot 
afford  such  luxuries." 

Meg  stood  still  a  moment ;  Laurie  gave  her  an 
imploring  look  which  made  Meg  feel  as  if  she  should 
like  to  shake  her. 

"Will  you  go  with  me  to  Ruth's  at  once?"  she 
asked. 

Maude  lifted  her  face.     "  Yes,"  she  said. 

"Very  well." 

They  put  on  their  wraps  and  went  down  the  stairs 
and  out  of  the  building  without  another  word.  It 
was  dark  and  cloudy  and  they  walked  fast.  As  they 
drew  near  Ruth's  poor  home,  they  saw  a  light  burn- 


A  DISCOVERY.  95 


ing  in  one  of  the  windows ;  the  curtain  was  up  and 
they  could  see  into  the  room.  The  tea-table  was 
spread,  the  fire  was  burning  brightly  and  everything 
looked  cheerfully  pleasant,  if  very  poor.  Ruth  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  Meg  went  up  to  the  door  and 
rang  the  bell.  In  a  few  moments  it  was  opened  by 
Ruth  herself.  Meg  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  She 
had  expected  to  find  her  almost  sick  with  grief,  and 
here  she  was,  her  little  dark  face  perfectly  free  from 
all  traces  of  violent  sobbing,  her  large,  dark  eyes  full 
of  a  bright,  solemn,  and  to  Meg,  indescribable  light. 
She  smiled  when  she  saw  who  was  standing  on  the 
steps,  and  invited  them  in  in  a  pretty,  shy  way.  Meg 
found  her  tongue  —  it  was  never  lost  for  long  —  and 
her  easy,  graceful  manner  with  it. 

"Tea  all  ready  for  us,  Ruthie?  But  why  do  you 
put  the  lamp  in  the  window?" 

Ruth  laughed  as  she  placed  chairs  for  her  unex- 
pected callers,  and  said,  "  I  put  it  there  for  mother ; 
she  has  not  returned  from  Mrs.  Lawton's  yet." 

"She  has  all  the  sewing  she  can  do,  doesn't  she? 
Is  she  quite  well?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you.  I  hope  she  will  return 
early;  she  would  like  to  see  you." 

"I  don't  hope  so,"  thought  Meg,  and  turned  to 
Maude.  "  Maude  is  really  your  visitor,  Ruthie ; 


96  MEGDA. 


Laurie  and  I  are  only  a  sort  of  body-guard,"  and 
Meg  laughed. 

Maude  blushed  deeply  at  Meg's  little  thrust,  but 
Ruth  said  innocently :  "  Oh,  are  you  ?  Maude  is  to 
be  congratulated  on  having  such  an  agreeable  body- 
guard. Did  you  wish  to  speak  with  me  about  any- 
thing in  particular,  Maude  ? " 

Maude  was  playing  nervously  with  the  ends  of  her 
rich  lace  scarf.  Meg  felt  like  shaking  Ruth  for  being 
so  gentle  with  her.  "And  she  knows  as  well  as  I 
what  Maude  has  done,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Maude  opened  her  lips  and  then  the  words  came 
almost  faster  than  she  could  repeat  them.  Ruth 
listened  to  what  she  said  with  a  startled  face.  Meg, 
watching  her,  was  more  than  astonished  to  see  a  look 
of  pain  gradually  settle  upon  it,  and  the  large  eyes 
fill  with  tears.  What  did  Ruth  mean  by  acting  as  if 
she  were  really  sorry  to  hear  what  Maude  said  instead 
of  dancing  with  joy!  Ruth  herself  explained  her 
meaning  when  Maude  had  finished  by  holding  out  her 
hand  and  saying,  "  I  am  truly  sorry,  Ruth ;  will  you 
believe  me  and  forgive  me  ? "  by  taking  that  hand  in 
both  her  own  and  saying  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with 
feeling : 

"  Forgive  you,  Maude  ?  To  be  sure  I  will,  with  all 
my  heart.  And  oh,  Maude,  let  us  both  thank  God 


A  DISCOVERY.  97 


for  giving  you  the  courage  to  acknowledge  your 
wrong  before  it  was  too  late,  and  ask  Him  to  ever 
increase  that  courage  to  resist  every  temptation  that 
may  come  to  you." 

Maude  cast  down  her  eyes  and  was  silent.  Laurie 
was  crying,  but  Meg's  face  wore  its  most  scornful 
look. 

"Why  doesn't  the  coward  tell  the  truth?"  she  was 
thinking.  "She  doesn't  say  how  she  was  forced  to 
acknowledge  it.  Well,  if  she  doesn't,  I  am  very  sure 
I  shan't." 

Ruth  went  on.  "  I  have  been  praying  ever  since  I 
came  from  school,  that  Jesus  would  make  it  all  right, 
and  He  has  so  soon  answered  my  prayer." 

"Does  that  explain  the  look  of  peace?"  thought 
Meg.  * 

"Let  us  all  kneel  down  and  thank  Him,"  said 
Ruth,  all  her  shyness  swallowed  up  in  her  happy 
thankfulness. 

She  drew  Maude  down  beside  her,  still  clasping  her 
hand  in  hers.  Laurie  knelt  and  buried  her  face  in 
the  cushions  of  her  chair.  Meg  alone  remained 
standing,  but  she  bowed  her  head.  Then  Ruth 
prayed,  and  oh,  how  she  prayed  !  Laurie  and  Maude 
both  sobbed,  and  Meg  felt  the  tears  coming  into  her 
own  eyes,  but  she  forced  them  back.  Ruth  prayed 


98  MEGDA. 


like  one  inspired,  and  Meg  was  forced  down  upon  her 
knees  in  spite  of  herself. 

When  they  rose  to  their  feet  Ruth  went  up  to  Meg 
and  kissed  her.  "  My  friend/'  she  said. 

Meg  laughed.  "Do  not  think  too  much  of  me, 
Ruthie.  I  have  done  nothing." 

"You  have  only  made  me  unspeakably  happy,"  said 
Ruth  simply. 

Meg  turned  to  Maude.  "  Have  you  anything  more 
to  say  ? "  she  asked. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Maude;  but  she  did  not  look  at 
Meg. 

"Then  we  may  as  well  go,"  said  Meg  shortly. 

Ruth  looked  at  Meg  sadly.  To  her,  Meg's  manner 
seemed  strange.  "She  has  such  stern  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong,"  thought  Ruth.  "She  scorns  mean 
actions;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  she  is  unnecessarily 
hard  with  Maude.  It  is  because  she  has  not  the  love 
of  God  in  her  heart.  Dear  Meg,  how  I  shall  pray  for 
her!" 

" Good-night,  Ruthie,"  said  Meg.  "We'll  see  you 
at  church  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  nothing  happens  to  prevent,"  replied  Ruth. 
"Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  they  answered,  and  went  out  of  the 
yard  and  down  the  street. 


A  DISCOVERY.  99 


At  Maude's  house  they  stopped.  It  was  a  hand- 
some dwelling,  plainly  showing  outside  the  wealth  of 
its  owner. 

"Meg,"  said  Maude,  but  still  not  looking  at  her, 
"are  you  going  to  tell  Madam  de  Crando?" 

The  words,  "Yes,  I  am  going  to  tell  Madam  de 
Crando,"  rose  to  Meg's  lips,  but  she  did  not  speak 
them. 

"Shall  I  let  Ruth  get  ahead  of  me  in  generosity?" 
she  asked  herself  bitterly.  "No,  I  will  be  a  Chris- 
tian, too,  for  once  in  my  life  if  I  never  am  again,  and 
return  good  for  evil  out  of  the  over-abundance  of  the 
former  quality  that  is  in  my  heart." 

"  I  have  reserved  my  forgiveness  until  now,  Maude," 
she  said  sweetly.  "I  grant  it  to  you  in  the  same 
spirit  of  earnestness  in  which  it  is  asked.  You  are 
quite  safe  with  me.  Good-night." 

She  put  her  hand  through  Laurie's  arm  and  led  her 
quickly  away.  "I  spoke  the  truth  at  all  events, 
kitten,"  she  said.  "We  know  how  much  earnestness 
was  wasted  in  both  the  plea  and  the  pardon." 

"Oh,  Meg,"  said  Laurie,  "don't  you  think  Maude 
was  really  in  earnest  ?  "• 

"Certainly,"  answered  Meg.    "  As  earnest  as  I  was." 

Laurie  thought  it  best  not  to  say  anything  more 
about  that.  "What  shall  you  do,  Meg  ?" 


100  MEGDA. 

"Do?" 

"About  the  essay,  I  mean.  What  shall  you  tell 
madam  ? " 

"Oh,  I  shall  tell  her  it  was  left  in  the  dressing- 
room  and  found  by  you." 

Laurie  looked  at  Meg  with  admiring  eyes.  Meg 
laughed  lightly.  "  Well,  was  it  not  ? "  she  asked. 

"But  suppose  she  does  not  believe  you?" 

Meg  dropped  Laurie's  arm,  and  drew  herself  up 
proudly.  "  Laurie  Ray ! " 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that  exactly,  Meg  dear,"  said 
frightened  Laurie.  "I  meant,  suppose  she  thinks  it 
a  little  strange;  you  know  she  cannot  at  least  help 
thinking  you  were  just  a  little  careless." 

"Yes,  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  replied  Meg  calmly. 

"  But  you  won't  want  her  to  think  that,  Meg  ? " 

"No,  but  it  will  be  quite  necessary.  The  life  of 
the  Christian  is  often  a  hard  one,  Laurie;  we  have 
many  things  to  contend  with.  We  are  obliged  to  do 
things  that  are  hard  for  us  to  do,  but  we  shall  reap 
our  reward  some  day." 

"Don't,  Meg,"  said  Laurie  in  a  pained  voice. 

"Well,  I  won't,  then,  kitten  ;  it  isn't  nice." 

"And  you  really  will  not  tell  of  Maude  ? " 

"Laurie  RayJ"  Again  the  haughty  lifting  of  the 
head. 


A  DISCOVERT.  101 


"Oh,  I  know  you  won't,  Meg,"  and  Laurie  stopped 
in  the  street  and  put  both  arms  around  Meg's  neck. 
"  You  are  the  dearest,  noblest,  grandest  girl  that  ever 
walked  the  earth  !  " 

Meg  laughed  as  she  returned  the  embrace.  "What 
strong  language,  kitten,"  she  said.  "Nobody  but  a 
kitten  would  be  guilty  of  such  idiocy.  But  you  are 
very  much  mistaken,  Laurie.  I  am  a  sinner  —  a 
wicked,  wicked  sinner;  but  I  have  one  consolation 
in  being  such  —  I  have  plenty  of  company.  Now, 
good-night.  Be  at  church  on  Sunday." 

"  Yes ;  but  are  you  going  in  the  morning,  Meg  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  am  anxious  to  see  if  Mr.  Stanley  will 
give  the  'hat  adventure'  as  an  illustration  to  'He 
that  ruleth  his  temper,'  etc." 

"Oh,  Meg,  you  sinner!  " 

"There!  just  what  I  have  been  trying  to  impress 
upon  you.  Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

Meg  walked  more  slowly  after  she  left  Laurie.  She 
was  thinking  deeply.  It  may  appear  strange  to  my 
readers  when  I  tell  them  that  Meg  gave  no  thought 
to  what  she  had  done  for  both  Ruth  and  Maude. 
She  might  do  a  kind  act  for  anyone  every  day  of  her 
life  and  not  waste  a  thought  upon  it,  but  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  do  an  unkind  act  and  not  be 


102  MEGDA. 


thoroughly  ashamed  of  herself  for  doing  it  fifteen 
minutes  after.  She  was  impulsive,  and,  like  most 
impulsive  people,  her  impulses  were  not  always  good 
ones.  Now,  as  she  walked  along  she  felt  ashamed  of 
the  words  she  had  spoken  to  Maude  at  her  gate,  but 
almost  too  proud  to  acknowledge  it  even  to  herself. 
Pride  was  Meg's  besetting  sin ;  it  often  kept  her  from 
converting  noble  thoughts  into  noble  actions.  She 
knew  she  had  been  wrong  in  speaking  in  the  way  in 
which  she  did,  but  pride  kept  her  from  acknowledg- 
ing her  wrong  and  saying  she  was  sorry  for  it. 

Meg  had  always  prided  herself  on  her  independent 
spirit;  she  had  always  found  herself  to  be  sufficient 
for  her  own  comfort  and  happiness ;  she  had  never 
found  it  necessary,  as  the  other  girls  had  done,  to 
depend  on  others  —  to  look  to  others  for  help;  she 
had  always  been  proudly  independent  of  everybody ;  it 
had  made  her  impatient  with  others  less  self-confident. 
She  had  laughed  at  Ethel  for  saying  she  would  find, 
some  day,  that  she  needed  a  Saviour's  help. 

"  Religion  will  do  for  those  who  cannot  depend  on 
themselves;  they  are  obliged  to  ask  for  help  from 
somewhere  —  but  what  do  I  want  of  it?  I  am  per- 
fectly happy  —  have  always  been  so  —  and  what 
reason  is  there  that  I  shall  not  always  be  so  ?  Simple 
little  Laurie  thinks  me  little  lower  than  the  angels ; 


A  DISCOVERY.  103 


what  I  have  done  to-day  has  increased  her  admiration 
for  me,  if  that  is  possible.  Would  she  rate  me  so 
high  if  she  knew  the  real  reason  for  my  doing  as  she 
did  ?  The  only  reason  why  I  promised  Maude  not  to 
expose  her  is  because  I  could  not  bear  to  think  that 
anyone  —  especially  such  a  timid,  weak  little  thing 
as  Ruthie  —  should  get  ahead  of  me  in  generosity. 
That  is  my  only  reason.  Can  it  be  that  I  am  as  great 
a  coward  as  Maude  ?  Why  didn't  I  tell  her  and 
Laurie  what  my  real  feelings  were  ?  It  can't  be  it 
was  because  I  was  afraid.  No,  no,  no.  I  will  not 
think  of  such  a  thing.  The  idea  of  my  being  a 
coward !  Besides,  Maude  understands  me  perfectly 
—  I  meant  that  she  should ;  but  does  Laurie  ? 
Pshaw  !  I'll  not  think  of  it  any  longer.  But  I  needn't 
have  lowered  myself  so  much  in  my  own  estimation 
as  to  pretend  what  I  did  not  feel,  or  that  is,  to  allow 
Laurie  to  think  my  motive  for  doing  as  I  do,  was  a 
purely  unselfish  one.  Well,  I'll  think  no  more  about 
it  now,  at  any  rate.  The  next  question  is :  '  What 
shall  I  say  to  Madam  de  Crando  on  Monday  ? '  That  is 
easily  answered.  I  shall  take  the  essay  to  her  and  tell 
her  it  was  found  in  the  dressing-room  behind  the 
blind.  She  will  naturally  conclude  that  I  put  it  there 
while  getting  ready  for  home  and  forgot  all  about  it. 
It  makes  no  difference  to  me  what  she  thinks.  And 


104  MEGDA, 


Maude  will  be  free  from  all  reproach  and  blame, 
except  that  of  her  conscience,  and  she  will  not  suffer 
much  from  that  source ;  people  of  her  stamp  are  not 
troubled  with  too  much  conscience.  I  haven't  a 
doubt  but  that  Ruth  will  look  up  to  her  with  the  same 
amount  of  admiration  that  Laurie  pays  to  me — as 
one  who  has  met  and  wrestled  with  temptation  and 
come  off  victorious  —  and  Maude  will  allow  her  to 
think  so  and  be  delighted.  But,  am  I  not  nearly  as 
bad  myself  in  allowing  Laurie  to  think  —  oh,  misery ! 
I'll  not  be  tortured  with  self -accusations  any  longer. 
Here  is  home,  sweet  home.  The  homage  paid  me 
here  is  true  and  heart-felt,  if  undeserved,  and  the  dear 
love  showered  upon  my  unworthy  head  is  appreciated 
and  returned  with  full  interest  by  me.  Oh,  if  mother, 
sister  and  brother  composed  the  world,  what  a  queen 
I  should  be  indeed !  Methinks  it  is  as  well  that  they 
do  not,  for  my  conceit  would  be  something  terrible ;  it 
is  well-nigh  insufferable  now."  And  for  the  very  first 
time,  probably,  in  all  the  eighteen  years  of  her  happy, 
petted  life,  Meg  felt  a  slight  contempt  for  herself  —  a 
strange,  unaccountable  feeling  of  dissatisfaction.  But 
her  pride  kept  her  from  showing  in  the  slightest 
manner,  how  she  felt.  Poor  Meg !  She  was  as  sub- 
missive a  victim  to  the  tyrant,  pride,  as  she  considered 
Ethel  and  Ruth  to  be  to  their  religion. 


BEHIND    THE   CHURCH  DOORS.         105 


IX. 

BEHIND    THE   CHURCH  DOORS. 

,  Girlie,  hurry  up  if  you  are  going  to  walk 
to  church  with  me." 

"Yes,  I'm  coming,  Hal;  wait  just  a  minute." 

"Can't  you  get  that  crimp  to  stay  in  just  one  par- 
ticular place  ?  Sister  is  ready,  and  has  been  for  five 
minutes." 

"  Well,  tell  her  and  mother  to  run  ahead,  and  you 
wait  just  a  second  longer,  that  is  a  darling." 

"Oh,  yes,  a  dear  old  darling  I  am  when  you  want 
me  to  wait  for  you.  Well,  hurry  up  or  I'll  run  on 

ahead,  too." 

Hal's  words  were  threatening,  but  he  had  no  idea 
of  carrying  the  threat  into  execution.  He  told  his 
mother  and  Elsie  to  start  on  ahead,  and  he  and  Meg 
would  catch  up  with  them  —  perhaps. 

In  about  five  minutes  Meg  came  running  down  the 
stairs.  Hal  heard  her  coming,  and  hid  behind  the 
parlor  door. 


106  MEGDA. 


"All  ready,  Hal;  you  were  a  darling  to  wait  for 
me." 

Hal,  in  his  place  of  concealment,  laughed  softly  and 
peeked  through  the  crack  of  the  door.  "  Lacing  her 
gloves  up  now,  ,by  all  that  is  truthful,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

Meg  finished  lacing  her  gloves  and  looked  around. 
"Hal,"  she  called.  No  answer. 

Meg  started  for  the  sitting-room,  got  as  far  as  the 
hall  glass  and  stopped  to  survey  herself.  She  pirou- 
etted around  on  her  toes,  looked  over  her  right  shoul- 
der, over  her  left,  tipped  her  brown  velvet  hat  a  little 
further  back,  that  more  of  the  bright  crimps  might 
show,  and  then  called  again.  "Hal."  Still  no 
answer. 

"  I'll  just  see  how  long  she'll  stand  and  admire  that 
new  rig  of  hers,"  said  Hal  to  himself.  "The  little 
darling  !  She  does  look  fine  this  morning,  and  no  mis- 
take. She's  a  sister  for  any  fellow  to  be  proud  of." 

But  Meg,  warned  probably  by  the  tolling  of  the 
bell,  had  stopped  her  examinations  for  good,  and  com- 
menced her  search  for  Hal  in  earnest.  She  ran  to 
the  door  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  then  flew 
back  into  the  parlor  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  "Hal,"  she  called,  impatiently,  and  stamped 
her  little  foot  upon  the  floor.  Hal  stepped  softly  up 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOORS.         107 

behind  her  and  caught  her  in  his  arms.  What  a 
scream  she  gave ! 

"'Sh,  Girlie,"  said  Hal;  "it  is  Sunday  morning." 

"A  nice  thing  for  you  to  remind  me  of,  after  teaz- 
ing  me  by  making  me  think  I  had  to  walk  to  church 
alone,  and  then  frightening  me  half  out  of  my  wits, 
you  hateful  boy ! "  retorted  Meg,  and  gave  him  a  kiss 
to  punish  him. 

"Never  mind,  Girlie,  I've  left  you  wits  enough  to 
look  as  pretty  as  a  pink.  That  is  a  lovely  rig  you 
have  on  — dark  red  is  becoming  to  you." 

Meg  almost  screamed.  "  Dark  red,  you  simpleton ! 
Why,  it  is  seal  brown." 

"Oh,  well,  what  is  the  difference?"  said  Hal,  as  he 
locked  the  door  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  "  I 
said  it  was  becoming,  and  that  is  the  main  point,  isn't 
it?" 

"Just  now  it  is,"  replied  Meg.  "Isn't  that  Lill 
Norton  and  Lulu  Martin  ahead  ? " 

"It  looks  like  them,"  replied  Hal  carelessly. 
"Yes,  it  is,  and  there  is  May  Bromley  just  coming 
out  of  her  gate.  We'll  not  be  the  only  ones  to  go  in 
to  slow  music." 

"May  has  on  her  new  suit,"  said  Meg.  "Her's  is 
a  garnet,  Hal ;  now  don't  you  see  the  difference 
between  dark  red  and  seal  brown  ? " 


108  MEGDA. 


"Well,  there  isn't  much.  Ethel  Lawton  looked 
fine  this  morning,  Girlie." 

"  Did  she  ?     Where  did  you  see  her  ? " 

"  She  drove  past  with  her  father  while  I  was  wait- 
ing for  you.  She  had  on  —  I  think  it  was  black  — 
anyway  it  was  velvet,  and  she  had  on  a  large  hat  with 
ever  so  many  plumes.  She  was  as  white  as  a  snow- 
drop, and  her  hair  shone  like  gold." 

"You  must  have  been  very  observing,  Hal;  how 
did  you  manage  to  see  all  that  ?  " 

"They  were  driving  very  slowly.  Ethel  leaned  out 
of  the  carriage  and  looked  at  every  window  in  hopes 
of  seeing  you,  I  suppose.  How  much  she  thinks  of 
you,  Girlie." 

Meg's  lip  curled. 

"But  do  you  think  she  is  strong?"  went  on  Hal, 
not  seeing  the  curling  lip.  " She  looks  very  delicate; 
her  skin  is  almost  transparent." 

"Oh,  yes,  she  is  strong  enough,"  answered  Meg 
hastily.  "  She  inherits  her  fair  skin  ;  all  her  people 
on  her  mother's  side  have  very  white  skin.  But  her 
new  suit  is  green,  Hal  —  an  emerald  green  velvet, 
and  it  is  perfectly  lovely.  I  was  up  to  the  house 
when  it  was  brought  home  from  the  dressmaker's; 
but  no  doubt  it  looked  black  to  you  as  it  shades  on 
the  dark.  Her  hat  is  imported.  There!  they  have 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOORS.         109 

all  disappeared  inside  the  church  and  the  bell  has 
stopped.  We  shall  be  the  last  ones." 

"  All  your  fault,  Girlie.  I  am  going  to  explain  my 
frequent  tardiness  to  Mr.  Stanley  when  I  get  better 
acquainted  with  him.  I'll  tell  him  he  will  never  know 
what  it  is  to  be  late  at  church  until  he  is  married. 
The  organist  will  have  to  look  out  and  get  long  vol- 
untaries then.  He'll  think  you  came  in  late  pur- 
posely to-day,  Girlie  —  to  show  your  new  rig." 

"Who  will  —  the  organist  ?"  asked  Meg  demurely. 

"No,  Mr.  Stanley." 

"I  don't  care  what  he  thinks,"  replied  Meg,  blush- 
ing a  little.  "  And  don't,  for  pity's  sake,  keep  calling 
it  a  rig,  Hal ;  call  it  a  suit." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  will  if  it  suits  you  any  better." 

Meg  gave  him  a  withering  glance.  "  Melvin  Pierce 
got  here  ? "  she  said  scornfully. 

"Guess  what  I  think,  Girlie,"  asked  Hal,  as  they 
went  up  the  stairs.  Meg  looked  up,  questioningly. 

"I  think  Mr.  Stanley -is  setting  his  cap  for  Ethel. 
Be  a  good  thing  for  him,  wouldn't  it  ?  They  look  fine 
together,  too." 

They  had  stepped  inside  the  vestibule,  and  Hal  had 
bent  his  head  close  to  Meg's  as  he  whispered  the  last 
question.  He  was  surprised  to  see  how  the  fair  face 
flushed,  but  Meg  smiled  and  gave  him  a  little  push. 


110  MEGDA. 


"  Yes ;  now  stop  whispering  and  go  in  before  Mr. 
Lane  stops  playing." 

They  went  in  and  took  their  seats.  Heads  were 
turned  and  every  face  smiled  a  welcome  on  Meg. 
Meg's  face  wore  an  answering  smile.  She  looked  in 
Laurie's  seat  —  so  did  Hal  —  and  both  thought  her 
looking  prettier  than  ever  in  her  new  suit  of  navy- 
blue  cashmere  trimmed  with  chinchilla.  All  the  girls 
had  on  their  new  suits  and  looked  very  pretty. 

Meg  never  questioned  whether  it  was  right  or 
wrong  to  think  of  such  things  in  church.  She  never 
turned  in  her  seat  to  stare  at  anyone,  or  did  anything 
else  that  she  considered  improper,  but  she  could  not 
keep  her  thoughts  from  dwelling,  first  upon  one  thing 
then  upon  another,  instead  of  keeping  them  strictly 
upon  the  sermon.  Elsie  always  listened  attentively 
to  every  word  that  was  said,  drinking  them  in  eagerly 
and  showing  her  earnestness  and  deep  interest  in  her 
parted  lips  and  softly-shining  eyes.  But  then  she 
was  good,  dear,  quiet  little  Elsie,  thought  Meg,  and 
cared  for  such  things. 

This  morning  Meg  did  not  venture  to  look  at  Mr. 
Stanley  until  Hal  touched  her  foot  softly  with  his. 
Looking  at  him  to  see  what  he  might  want  and  seeing 
his  eyes  fastened  earnestly  on  the  pulpit,  Meg  turned 
her  head  quickly  and  looked,  too.  The  thought  flashed 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOORS.         Ill 

upon  her  that  Mr.  Stanley  might  possibly  have 
exchanged  pulpits,  and  she  should  see  a  stranger 
occupying  the  chair.  What  was  her  embarrassment 
to  meet  Mr.  Stanley's  dark-blue  eyes  gazing  earnestly 
at  her.  There  was  nothing  in  that  certainly;  the 
look  was  a  very  grave,  unobtrusive  one;  but  Meg 
flushed  hotly  beneath  it  and  dropped  her  eyes,  at  the 
same  time  feeling  deeply  angry  with  herself  for  doing 
so.  As  for  Hal,  mischievous  fellow,  he  was  obliged 
to  turn  his  head  and  look  out  of  the  window.  Laurie, 
watching  him,  wondered  what  he  could  see  in  the 
church-yard  to  bring  such  a  broad  smile  on  his  face. 
Meg  did  not  venture  another  look  until  she  was  stand- 
ing with  the  others  singing  the  "Doxology." 

Mr.  Stanley  did  not  sing,  but  he  was  passionately 
fond  of  music.  Now  he  stood  with  his  hands. clasped 
behind  him  and  his  eyes  raised  toward  Heaven.  His 
face  wore  a  rapt  expression  as  if  he  had  forgotten  all 
earthly  things  and  was  thinking  only  of  things  spirit- 
ual, as,  indeed,  he  was.  Somehow  his  face,  or  the 
expression  it  wore,  fascinated  Meg,  and  she  kept  her 
eyes  upon  it,  even  after  the  singing  ceased,  and  the 
young  minister,  lifting  his  hand,  said  in  a  deep,  solemn 
voice,  "Let  us  pray." 

The  prayer  was  short  but  tenderly  impressive. 
Then  followed  the  hymn  :  "  Come  Near  Me,  O  My 


112  MEGDA. 


Saviour."  Mr.  Stanley  read  the  verses  through,  and 
Meg's  cultivated  ear  was  charmed  with  the  rare 
elocutionary  powers  he  displayed.  "Oh,  what  a 
grand  ' Macbeth'  he  would  make,"  she  thought.  "He 
is  just  the  style,  too ;  a  handsome  face  is  not  neces- 
sary, and  his  form  is  just  perfect  —  not  short  and  not 
tall,  but  strongly-made  and  broad-shouldered.  And 
that  voice !  deep,  thrilling  and  musical.  Oh,  if  he 
would  only  join  us  ! " 

Mr.  Stanley  little  thought  the  way  in  which  the 
beautiful  words  of  the  hymn  and  his  manner  of  ren- 
dering them  were  being  received  by  one  fair  member 
of  his  congregation.  As  he  finished,  he  looked  at 
Meg  and  noticed  the  look  of  deep  admiration  on  her 
fair,  lifted  face,  but  mistook  it  for  one  of  reverent 
-feeling  for  the  words  he  had  read.  He  was  pleased, 
and  said  to  himself :  "  I  was  not  mistaken  when  I  said 
there  were  rare  qualities  in  that  girl's  nature.  She 
will  make  a  most  lovely  woman." 

The  text  Mr.  Stanley  chose  was  from  the  seventh 
chapter  of  St.  Matthew,  the  seventh  and  eighth 
verses.  He  confined  himself  quite  closely  to  his 
notes.  He  did  not  step  from  behind  his  desk;  he 
made  few  gestures,  but  those  he  did  make  were 
easy,  graceful  and  well-appointed.  The  words  came 
smoothly  from  his  lips ;  his  articulation  was  perfect, 


BEHIND   THE  CHURCH  DOORS.          113 

every  syllable  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  the  furthest 
corner  of  the  large  room.  His  voice  in  its  ordinary 
tone,  was  deep,  but  soft  and  pleasant.  When  he  said 
anything  in  which  he  wished  to  be  particularly 
impressive,  his  voice  would  ring  out  strong,  clear  and 
thrilling.  He  caught  the  attention  of  the  entire  con- 
gregation at  the  first  word  he  uttered,  and  held  it  to 
the  end.  Fastidious  Meg  was  thoroughly  charmed, 
though  she  could  not  have  told  his  text  five  minutes 
after  she  heard  it,  nor  could  she  remember  one  partic- 
ular thing  that  he  said.  He  appealed  only  to  her 
admiration ;  he  demanded  that  and  received  it. 

The  rare,  cultivated  voice,  the  graceful  gestures, 
the  pure,  simple  language  and  the  rapid  change  of 
expression,  received  her  deepest  attention  and  admira- 
tion, but  the  beautiful  words  from  God's  own  book, 
the  grand  thoughts  he  gave  expression  to,  and  the  sol- 
emn, comforting  assurances  held  out  to  his  listeners 
in  his  earnest,  closing  words,  were  all  lost  upon  Meg; 
she  gave  no  thought  to  them. 

Mr.  Stanley  commenced  by  saying:  "Our  Heav- 
enly Father  loves  all  His  children  with  infinite  love; 
that  is,  He  loves  everyone,  even  the  feeblest  and 
weakest  of  His  children,  with  the  self-same  love  with 
which  He  loves  His  only  begotten  Son.  On  account 
of  this  infinite  love  —  knowing  how  great,  how  many, 


114  MEGDA. 


how  varied,  nay,  how  numberless  would  be  their 
trials,  their  difficulties,  their  afflictions,  their  tempta- 
tions, while  passing  through  this  vale  of  tears  —  He, 
in  His  grace,  made  abundant  provision,  in  giving  most 
precious  and  encouraging  promises  concerning  prayer, 
so  that,  if  they  took  their  trials,  difficulties,  afflictions 
and  temptations  to  their  Heavenly  Father,  seeking 
His  strength,  His  counsel  and  His  guidance,  and  act- 
ing according  to  the  loving  counsel  and  advice  given 
in  the  Scripture,  'Casting  all  your  care  upon  Him,' 
the  position  of  most  of  the  children  of  God  would  be 
very  different  from  what  it  is.  Then  again,  our  pre- 
cious Lord  Jesus  Christ  loves  us  with  the  self-same 
love  with  which  the  Father  loves  Him.  Do  we  all 
believe  it  ?  The  former  statement,  that  the  Father 
loves  His  children  with  the  self-same  love  with  which 
He  loves  His  only  begotten  Son,  and  what  I  now 
state,  that  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  loves  us  with  the 
self-same  love  —  that  is,  with  infinite  love  —  and  that 
with  this  love  He  loves  the  feeblest  and  weakest  of 
His  children,  possibly  may  appear  strange  to  some  of 
you. 

"Yet  this  is  the  statement  of  Holy  writ  as  found 
in  John  xv  :  9,  and  in  John  xvii  :  23.  Our  precious 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  loves  us  with  such  love, 
passed  through  difficulties,  trials  and  temptations 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOOES.         115 

like  unto  ours,  while  He  was  in  the  world.  He  was 
looked  down  upon ;  He  was  despised ;  that  Blessed 
One  'had  not  where  to  lay  His  head/  and  was,  while 
in  trie  world,  '  in  all  points  tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet 
without  sin.'  Knowing  the  position  of  His  disciples 
in  this  world,  He  has  given  the  precious  promise 
which  I  have  read  on  the  subject  of  prayer,  and  if  it 
is  made  good  use  of,  we  may  have  Him  as  the  burden- 
bearer,  ever  ready  to  help  in  the  time  of  sorrow,  weak- 
ness and  affliction  —  in  a  word,  in  all  the  variety  of 
position  and  circumstances  in  which  we  are  found 
here  in  the  body. 

"  Had  it  been  left  to  us  to  make  promises  regarding 
prayer,  I  do  not  know  that  .you  or  I  could  have  done 
more  than  say,  'Ask,  and  ye  shall  receive.'  Yet, 
while  the  promise  is  so  full,  so  deep,  so  broad,  so 
precious  in  every  way,  we  have  here  —  as  becomes  us 
with  other  parts  of  the  Word  of  God  —  to  compare 
Scripture  with  Scripture,  because  in  other  parts 
additions  are  made,  or  conditions  given,  which,  if  we 
neglect,  will  hinder  our  getting  the  full  benefit  of 
prayer.  I  judge  we  have  not  to  lose  sight  of  the 
passage  in  i  John,  v  :  13-15.  'These  things  have  I 
written  unto  you  that  believe  on  the  name  of  the  Son 
of  God ;  that  ye  may  know  that  ye  have  eternal  life, 
and  that  ye  may  believe  on  the  name  of  the  Son  of 


116  MEGDA. 


God.  And  this  is  the  confidence  that  we  have  in 
Him,  that,  if  we  ask  anything  according  to  His  will, 
He  heareth  us  :  And  if  we  know  that  He  heareth  us, 
whatsoever  we  ask,  we  know  that  we  have  the  peti- 
tions that  we  desired  of  Him.'  • 

"Here  is  the  first  point  specially  to  be  noticed 
regarding  prayer,  '  If  we  ask  anything  according  to 
His  will  He  heareth  us,  and  if  we  know  that  He  hear- 
eth us,  whatsoever  we  ask,  we  know  that  we  have  the 
petitions  that  we  desired  of  Him.'  If,  therefore,  we 
pray,  and  desire  to  have  our  petitions  granted,  it 
becomes  us  first  to  see  to  it  that  we  ask  for  things 
according  to  His  mind  and  will;  for  our  blessing 
and  happiness  are  intimately  connected  with  the 
holiness  of  God.  Suppose  there  were  living  here,  in 
our  town,  a  person  who  had  long  carried  on  a  business, 
who  was  known  by  those  intimately  acquainted  with 
him  to  be  an  idle  person,  one  who  shrinks  from  work ; 
or,  whenever  he  can  get  out  of  it,  seeks  to  have 
an  easy  time  of  it.  Suppose  such  a  person  had  heard 
of  the  promise  about  prayer,  and  should  say,  'Now 
I  will  try  if  these  things  are  true,  and  I  will  ask  God 
to  give  me  $100,000,  and  then  I  can  give  myself  easy 
days;  I  can  travel  about  and  enjoy  myself.'  Suppose 
he  prays  every  day  for  this  large  sum  of  money,  will 
he  obtain  it  ?  Assuredly  not !  Why  not  ?  He  does 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOORS.          117 

not  ask  for  it  that  he  may  help  the  poor  abundantly ; 
that  he  may  contribute  to  the  work  of  God  more 
liberally,  but  he  asks  that  he  may  spend  his  life  in 
idleness,  and  in  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  world. 
He  is  not  asking  for  things  according  to  the  mind  of 
God, -and  therefore,  however  long  or  earnestly  he  may 
pray,  he  will  not  get  the  answer.  We  are  only  war- 
ranted in  expecting  our  prayers  to  be  answered  when 
we  ask  for  things  according  to  the  mind  of  God. 

"  The  second  point  we  should  notice  is,  that  we  do 
not  ask  on  account  of  our  own  goodness  and  merit, 
but,  as  the  Scripture  expresses  it,  '  In  the  name  of 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  I  refer  you  to  John  xiv: 
13,  14 — 'And  whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  My  name, 
that  will  I  do,  that  the  Father  may  be  glorified  in  the 
Son.  If  ye  shall  ask  anything  in  My  name,  I  will  do 
it.'  The  statement  is  given  twice,  in  order  to  show 
the  great  importance  of  this  truth;  for  whenever  a 
saying  is  given  twice  in  the  Word  of  God,  we  may  be 
sure  a  weighty  and  important  subject  is  brought 
before  us.  What  does  this  statement,  given  twice  by 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  mean  ?  If  we  desire  to  go  to 
Heaven,  how  shall  we  get  there  ?  On  the  ground  of 
our  own  goodness,  merit  or  worthiness  ?  Because  we 
are  not  so  bad  as  others  ?  Because  we  go  regularly 
to  a  place  of  worship  ?  Because  we  give  a  little  to 


118  MEGDA. 


the  poor  ?  In  this  way  assuredly  no  one  will  get  to 
Heaven.  It  is  quite  right  to  go  to  a  place  of  worship. 
It  is  quite  right  that,  of  the  abundance  God  gives,  we 
should  contribute  to  the  poor.  It  is  quite  right  that 
we  should  act  according  to  morality.  But  in  this  way 
a  poor  sinner  cannot  get  to  Heaven.  We  must  see 
our  lost  and  ruined  condition  by  nature,  and  that  we 
deserve  nothing  but  punishment.  The  best  person 
in  this  congregation,  in  this  town,  in  the  United 
States,  or  in  the  whole  world,  is  a  sinner  deserving 
punishment.  Never  since  the  fall  of  Adam  has  a 
single  person,  by  his  own  goodness,  obtained  Heaven. 
Under  the  old  dispensation,  there  was  need  to  look 
forward  to  the  Messiah,  and  since  the  old  covenant 
dispensation  has  ceased,  there  is  need  to  look  back 
upon  the  Messiah,  who,  in  our  stead,  suffered  the 
punishment  due  to  us,  while  hanging  on  the  cross  and 
shedding  His  blood.  All  our  guilt  was  transferred 
to  Him,  that  His  righteousness  might  be  transferred 
to  us.  And  now  a  sinner  —  though  the  oldest  and 
the  vilest  wretch  under  Heaven,  as  assuredly  as  he 
puts  his  trust  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  shall  be  for- 
given, shall  be  cleansed,  shall  be  justified;  that  is, 
shall  be  reckoned  righteous  and  just,  through  this  his 
trust  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  for  the  salvation  of  his 
soul.  In  this  way  the  sinner  gets  to  Heaven  —  by 


BEHIND  THE   CHURCH  DOORS.          119 

faith  in  Jesus  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  As  by 
faith  —  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  —  we  shall  stand 
before  God  at  the  last,  so  it  is  now  in  approaching 
unto  God  in  prayer.  If  we  desire  to  have  our  peti- 
tions answered,  we  must  come  to  Him,  not  in  our 
own  name,  but  as  sinners  who  trust  in  Jesus,  who  by 
faith  in  His  name  are  united  to  the  blessed  risen 
Lord,  who  have  become,  through  trusting  in  Him, 
members  of  that  body  of  which  He  is  the  Head.  Let 
none  suppose  they  are  good  enough  in  themselves.  I 
deserve  nothing  but  hell.  So  precisely  with  all  of 
you,  and  the  very  best  and  holiest  persons  that  can  be 
found.  Therefore  on  the  ground  of  our  goodness  we 
cannot  expect  to  have  our  prayers  answered.  But 
Jesus  is  worthy,  and  for  His  sake  we  may  have  our 
prayers  answered.  There  is  nothing  too  choice,  too 
costly,  or  too  great  for  God  to  give  to  Him.  He  is 
worthy.  He  is  the  spotless,  holy  child,  who,  under 
all  circumstances,  acted  according  to  the  mind  of 
God.  And  if  we  trust  in  Him,  if  we  bide  in  Him,  if 
we  put  Him  forward,  and  ourselves  in  the  background, 
depend  on  Him  and  plead  His  name,  we  may  expect 
to  have  our  prayers  answered. 

"  Some  one  may  say,  <  I  have  prayed  through  long 
years,  for  my  unconverted  children,  but  they  have  not 
yet  been  converted.  I  feel  I  shall  not  have  my  pray- 


120  MEGDA. 


ers  answered.  I  am  so  unworthy.'  Does  this  mean, 
'  I  live  in  sin  ?  I  go  on  habitually  in  an  evil  course  ? ' 
If  so,  the  prayer  cannot  be  answered,  for  in  the  Sixty- 
sixth  Psalm  we  read,  'If  I  regard  iniquity  in  my 
heart,  the  Lord  will  not  hear  me.'  That  is,  if  I  live 
in  sin,  and  go  on  in  a  course  hateful  to  God,  I  may 
not  expect  my  prayers  to  be  answered.  But  what  is 
meant  is,  '  My  love  is  faint,  I  am  ignorant,  therefore 
I  am  unworthy.'  This  is  a  mistake.  The  promises 
are  particularly  for  such  —  for  the  weak,  for  the 
feeble,  for  the  ignorant,  for  the  needy ;  and  all  such 
who  ask  for  Christ's  sake  are  warranted  to  expect 
their  prayers  to  be  answered. 

"A  third  condition  is,  that  we  exercise  faith  in  the 
power  and  the  willingness  of  God  to  answer  our 
prayers.  This  is  deeply  important.  In  Mark,  xi :  24, 
we  read,  *  What  things  soever  ye  desire,  when ,  ye 
pray,  believe  that  ye  receive  them,  and  ye  shall  have 
them.'  'What  things  soever  ye  desire'  —  of  what- 
ever kind — 'believe  that  ye  receive  them  and  ye  shall 
have  them.'  I  would  specially  lay  this  on  your  heart, 
that  you  exercise  faith  in  the  power  and  willingness 
of  God  to  answer  your  prayers.  We  must  believe 
that  God  is  able  and  willing.  To  see  that  He  is  able, 
you  have  only  to  look  at  the  resurrection  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ ;  for  having  raised  Him  from  the  dead, 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOORS.          121 

He  must  have  almighty  power.  As  to  the  love  of 
God,  you  have  only  to  look  to  the  cross  of  Christ,  and 
see  His  love  in  not  sparing  His  Son,  in  not  with- 
holding His  only-begotten  Son  from  death.  With 
these  proofs  of  the  power  and  love  of  God  assuredly, 
if  we  believe,  we  shall  receive  —  we  shall  obtain. 

"Suppose  now  we  ask,  firstly,  for  such  things  as 
are  according  to  the  mind  of  God,  and  only  such 
things  can  be  good  for  us ;  secondly,  that  we  expect 
answers  on  the  ground  of  the  merit  and  righteousness 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  asking  in  His  name;  and 
thirdly,  that  we  exercise  faith  in  the  power  and  will- 
ingness of  our  Heavenly  Father  to  grant  our  requests ; 
then,  fourthly,  we  have  to  continue  patiently  waiting 
on  God  till  the  blessing  we  seek  is  granted.  For 
observe,  nothing  is  said  in  the  text  as  to  the  time  in 
which,  or  the  circumstances  under  which,  the  prayer 
is  to  be  answered.  *  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you.' 
There  is  a  positive  promise,  but  nothing  as  to  the 
time.  'Seek,  and  ye  shall  find;  knock,  and  it  shall 
be  opened  unto  you.'  We  have,  therefore,  patiently 
and  quietly  to  continue  waiting  on  God  till  the  bless- 
ing is  granted.  Someone  may  say,  '  Is  it  necessary  I 
should  bring  a  matter  before  God,  two,  three,  five  or 
even  twenty  times ;  is  it  not  enough  I  tell  Him 
once  ? '  We  might  as  well  say  there  is  no  need  to 


122  MEGDA. 


tell  Him  once,  for  He  knows  beforehand  what  our 
need  is.  He  wants  us  to  prove  that  we  have  con- 
fidence in  Him,  that  we  take  our  place  as  creatures 
toward  the  Creator.  Moreover,  we  are  never  to  lose 
sight  of  the  fact  that  there  may  be  particular  reasons 
why  prayer  may  not  at  once  be  answered.  For  the 
exercise  of  our  faith,  for  by  exercise  faith  is  strength- 
ened. We  all  know  that  if  our  faith  were  not 
exercised  it  would  remain  as  it  was  at  first.  By  the 
trial  it  is  strengthened.  Another  reason  may  be  that 
we  may  glorify  God  by  the  manifestation  of  patience. 
This  is  a  grace  by  which  God  is  greatly  magnified. 
Our  manifestation  of  patience  glorifies  God.  There 
may  be  another  reason.  Our  heart  may  not  yet  be 
prepared  for  an  answer  to  our  prayer.  I  will  give  an 
illustration  : 

"  Suppose  that  three  weeks  ago  a  lad  of  sixteen 
years  of  age  had  been  brought  to  a  knowledge  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  that  with  his  heart  full  of  love 
to  the  Lord  he  wanted  to  do  something  for  Hirr*. 
And  suppose  he  goes  to  the  Sunday-school  superin- 
tendent and  says,  '  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  give 
me  a  class  to  teach.'  A  class  of  nine  children  is 
given  him.  '-Now  this  dear  boy,  whose  heart  is  full  of 
love  to  the  Lord,  begins  to  pray  that  God  would  con- 
vert these  nine  children.  He  prays  in  private  and 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOORS.          123 

before  them,  and  also  exhorts  them  to  seek  the  Lord. 
After  going  home  from  his  class  he  gives  himself 
earnestly  to  prayer  that  God  would  convert  these  nine 
children.  On  Monday  he  repeats  his  request  before 
God,  and  so  day  by  day  during  the  week  and  on 
Sunday  again  particularly;  and  then  he  goes  to  his 
class  and  expects  that  these  nine  children  will  be  con- 
verted. He  finds,  however,  they  are  not,  but  that 
they  are  just  in  the  same  state  as  before.  He  again 
sets  the  Gospel  before  them ;  he  exhorts,  beseeches 
and  weeps  before  them.  During  the  second  week 
his  prayers  are  most  earnest;  but  on  the  following 
Sunday  he  finds  that  none  of  the  nine  children  are 
yet  converted.  Does  it  mean  that  God  will  not 
answer  these  prayers  ?  It  cannot  be  that  this  dear 
boy  will  have  to  go  on  praying  and  God  not  regard  it. 
But  one  reason  is  that  the  heart  of  this  boy  is  not  pre- 
pared for  the  blessing.  If  these  children  had  been 
converted  the  first  week,  he  would  take  credit  to  him- 
self; he  would  think  what  he  had  been  able  to  do, 
and  would  attribute  the  conversions  to  his  entreaties, 
instead  of  to  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  He  would 
take  a  goodly  measure  of  credit  to  himself,  though  he 
might  not  be  aware  of  it.  But  let  him  patiently  go 
on,  and  when  his  heart  is  prepared,  God  will,  if 
possible,  give  it.  Thus  it  is  that  the  child  of  God 


124  MEGDA. 


has  to  wait  until  the  heart  is  prepared  for  the 
blessing. 

"Many  of  the  dear  children  of  God  stagger, 
because  prayer  is  not  at  once  answered.  And 
because  for  weeks,  months  and  years,  prayer  remains 
unanswered,  they  cease  to  ask  God,  and  thus  lose  the 
blessing,  which,  had  they  persevered,  they  would 
assuredly  have  obtained.  It  should  be  especially 
noticed  that  all  the  children  of  God,  who  walk  in  His 
ways  and  wait  on  Him  in  prayer,  have,  more  or  less 
frequently,  answers  to  prayer.  I  will  illustrate  this  : 

"All  who  in  any  measure  walk  before  God,  at  the 
close  of  the  day  thank  Him  for  His  mercies,  and  com- 
mend themselves  to  Him  for  protection  during  the 
night.  In  the  morning  they  find  no  fire  has  hap- 
pened, and  no  wicked  hands  have  molested  them. 
Here  is  an  answer  to  prayer,  and  we  have  to  thank 
God  for  it.  The  more  we  observe  these  matters,  the 
more  we  shall  find  how  we  get  prayer  answered. 
Many  that  have  suffered  from  sleeplessness  have 
often,  in  answer  to  prayer,  had  sound,  refreshing 
sleep,  and  have  had  in  the  morning  to  thank  God  for 
it.  Now  all,  on  the  other  hand,  have  sometimes  long 
to  wait  for  answers  to  prayers.  Many  of  the  dear 
children  of  God  have  long  to  wait  for  the  conversion 
of  their  children.  While  some  receive  the  blessing 


BEHIND   THE   CHURCH  DOORS.         125 

very  soon,  others  have  to  wait  for  many  years.  But, 
beloved  brethren  and  sisters,  go  on  waiting  upon  God, 
go  on  praying;  only  be  sure  you  ask  for  things 
according  to  the  mind  of  God.  The  conversion  of 
sinners  is  according  to  the  mind  of  God,  for  He  does 
not  desire  the  death  of  the  sinner.  This  is  the  reve- 
lation God  has  made  of  Himself — 'Not  willing  that 
any  should  perish,  but  that  all  should  come  to  repent- 
ance.' Go  on,  therefore,  praying;  expect  an  answer, 
look  for  it,  and  in  the  end  you  will  have  to  praise  God 
for  it. 

"There  is  one  point  I  would  especially  lay  on  the 
hearts  of  my  beloved  brethren  and  sisters,  and  that 
is  —  united  prayer.  In  Matthew  xviii:i9,  the  Lord 
Jesus  says,  'If  two  of  you  shall  agree  on  earth  as 
touching  anything  that  they  shall  ask,  it  shall  be  done 
for  them  of  My  Father  which  is  in  heaven.'  If, 
therefore,  there  are  brethren  and  sisters  in  Christ  who 
have  unconverted  relatives,  and  if  they  could  unite 
with  two  or  more  persons,  and  unitedly  ask  God  to 
convert  their  children,  oh,  what  a  blessing  might  not 
come  in  this  way  ?  They  should  plead  this  promise 
before  the  Lord,  read  it  out  when  they  meet,  and  put 
their  finger  —  so  to  speak  —  upon  it.  If  they  met 
once  a  week  for  half  an  hour,  or  once  a  fortnight,  or 
as  often  as  they  conveniently  could,  to  plead  this 


126  MEGDA. 


promise  before  the  Lord,  after  a  while  a  father  would 
have  to  say,  'My  son,  who  almost  broke  my  heart, 
has  been  converted ' ;  and  a  mother,  '  I  have  a  letter 
from  my  daughter,  who  fifteen  years  ago  left  my 
home,  and  has  been  living  in  sin,  telling  me  she  has 
found  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  How  their  faith  would 
be  strengthened  by  such  united  prayer  and  such  testi- 
monies !  After  a  while,  as  their  faith  was  strength- 
ened, they  would  unitedly  pray  for  their  Pastor,  that 
God  would  more  abundantly  bless  his  labors  in  the 
conversion  of  sinners,  and  in  blessings  on  the  Church ; 
and  as  they  were  further  enlarged,  their  prayers  would 
extend  to  Missions,  the  circulation  of  the  Scriptures 
and  tracts.  They  would  know  the  power  and  blessed- 
ness of  prayer  more  and  more  abundantly,  and  would 
wait  earnestly  upon  God,  asking  Him,  yet  once  more, 
in  these  days,  to  grant  a  mighty  revival  in  the  Church 
of  Christ  at  large.  If  this  were  generally  so,  with 
what  power  ministers  would  set  forth  the  truth  of  the 
Gospel,  what  blessings  would  come  on  our  Sunday- 
schools,  on  the  circulation  of  the  Scriptures,  on  open- 
air  preaching,  and  other  Christian  work.  God  grant 
we  may  more  earnestly  give  ourselves  to  prayer. 

"I  find  it  a  great  blessing  to  treasure  up  in  my 
memory  the  answers  God  graciously  gives  me.  I 
keep  a  record  to  strengthen  the  memory.  I  advise 


BEHIND    THE   CHURCH  DOORS.          127 

the  keeping  of  a  little  memorandum  book.  On  one 
side  —  say  the  left  hand  side  —  put  down  the  petition 
and  the  date  when,  you  began  to  offer  it.  Let  the 
opposite  page  be  left  blank  to  put  down  the  answer  in 
each  case,  and  you  will  soon  find  how  many  answers 
you  get,  and  thus  you  will  be  encouraged,  more  and 
more  your  faith  will  be  strengthened ;  and  especially 
you  will  see  what  a  lovely,  bountiful  and  gracious 
being  God  is ;  your  heart  will  go  out  more  and  more 
in  love  to  God,  and  you  will  say  — '  It  is  my  Heav- 
enly Father  who  has  been  so  kind;  I  will  trust  in 
Him,  I  will  confide  in  Him.' 

"With  regard  to.  any  who  do  not  yet  know  Him, 
let  the  first  prayer  be  offered  to-day,  before  you  leave 
this  place  —  'Show  me  I  am  a  sinner.'  When  you 
see  this  ask  the  Lord  — '  Help  me  to  put  my  trust  in 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,'  and  you  will  find  how  ready 
God  is  to  give  blessing.  May  we  all  who  are  the  peo- 
ple of  God,  receive  a  blessing,  and  our  dear  friends 
and  fellow-sinners  be  stirred  up  to  seek  Him  while 
He  is  to  be  found.  God  grant  it  for  Jesus'  sake. 
Let  us  pray. 

"Oh,  God,  grant  that  the  words  thus  spoken  may 
be  like  seeds  dropped  upon  fertile  ground,  to  spring 
up  and  bear  fruit  to  the  glory  of  Thy  holy  Name. 
May  all  these  precious  souls  here  this  morning,  learn 


128  MEGDA. 


what  a  blessed  thing  prayer  is,  if  they  do  not  already 
know  it.  Teach  them  to  trust  Thee ;  to  take  all  their 
trials,  their  sorrows  and  their  perplexities  to  the 
throne  of  Grace,  and  receive  comfort  and  rest. 
Bless  the  words  so  poorly  spoken  by  Thy  servant, 
dear  Lord.  Forgive  us  all  our  sins,  and  save  us  for 
Thy  blessed  Son's  sake.  Amen." 


IN   THE    VESTRY.  129 


X. 

IN  THE  VESTRY. 

WASN'T  that  a  good  sermon,  Meg  ? "  whispered 
Laurie,  as  the  two  girls  stood  in  the  vestibule 
waiting  for  the  others  of  their  class  to  join  them. 

"The  delivery  of  it  was  perfect,"  answered  Meg. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Stanley  has  doubtless  made  the  study  of 
elocution  a  specialty.  But  weren't  his  ideas  good, 
and  so  simply  expressed !  And  how  comforting  he 
spoke ! " 

Meg  looked  at  Laurie  in  a  little  surprise.  "He 
makes  a  remarkably  fine  appearance  in  the  pulpit," 
she  said  slowly.  "  I  would  have  liked  to  see  him 
enter  the  pulpit.  Did  you  see  him,  Laurie?" 

"Yes;  his  manner  was  all  that  even  you  could 
desire,  Meg." 

"Very  dignified,  but  easy,  wasn't  it,  Laurie  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  don't  the  girls  come?     It  takes  them  long 


130  MEGDA. 


enough  this  morning.  Oh,  here  they  are.  What 
have  you  been  doing,  girls,  to  be  so  long?" 

"Been  waiting  for  Ethel,  but  got  tired  and  came 
away  without  her,"  replied  Lill  Norton. 

"What  is  she  doing,"  asked  Meg,  stepping  to  the 
swing-door  and  looking  into  the  church. 

"Thanking  Mr.  Stanley  for  his  excellent  sermon," 
said  May  Bromley.  "She  seems  to  be  completely 
carried  away  with  him.  'Twill  be  a  good  thing  for 
the  young  man  if  she  is,  won't  it?" 

Meg  turned  around  with  a  frown.  "What  non- 
sense, May,  for  a  school-girl  to  talk !  " 

May  looked  ashamed.  "Well,  it  would;  she  will 
be  quite  an  heiress,  and  Mr.  Stanley  hasn't  any 
money." 

Meg  looked  perfectly  scandalized.  "Well,  May 
Bromley !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Lill  and  Lulu  laughed  outright,  and  May  giggled. 

"Look  at  her  now,"  said  May,  anxious  to  have 
Meg's  scornful  eyes  leave  her  face. 

Meg  looked.  Ethel  and  Mr.  Stanley  were  standing 
at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  steps.  Mr.  Stanley  was  hold- 
ing Ethel's  hand  tightly  in  his  own  as  if  he  had  for- 
gotten to  release  it,  and  was  looking  earnestly  into 
her  pale,  refined  face  while  she  talked  to  him.  It 
seemed  to  Meg  as  if  she  had  never  seen  Ethel  look  so 


IN  THE    VESTRY.  131 

lovely.  There  was  a  delicate  pink  flush  in  her  cheek 
and  her  gray  eyes  shone  brightly. 

"What  can  she  be  saying  to  him !  "  thought  Meg. 

Just  then  another  figure  left  one  of  the  middle 
pews  and  swept  gracefully  down  the  broad  aisle. 
"Maude  Leonard,"  said  Lulu,  peeping  over  Meg's 
shoulder.  "  Isn't  that  suit  she  has  on  too  lovely  for 
anything  ?  Such  rich  black  velvet !  and  look  at  those 
elegant  plumes !  Look  at  me,  Meg,  and  tell  me  if 
you  cannot  see  my  skin  turning  green ;  I  feel  envious 
enough." 

"Oh,  come  away,  girls,"  said  Meg,  turning  around 
with  a  scornfully  smiling  face.  "If  Maude  hasn't 
gone  up  to  add  her  congratulations  to  those  of 
Ethel's !  Why  didn't  we  think  to  form  in  line  and 
march  down  the  center  aisle  to  pay  homage  to  our 
king.  Lill,  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Have  you  no 
heart,  or  is  it  so  hard  that  even  Mr.  Stanley's  elo- 
quence cannot  soften  it  ?  You  are  a  lot  of  heathen, 
that  is  what  you  are.  Come  down  to  Sunday-school 
now,  and  see  if  you  can  say  the  '  Golden  Text ',"  and 
the  girls  obeyed  the  command  of  their  '  leader ',  laugh- 
ing softly  as  they  went. 

All  but  Laurie.  There  was  not  even  a  smile  on 
her  pretty,  flower-like  face.  One  time  she  would  have 
laughed  heartily  at  her  "idol's"  sarcastic  remarks, 


132  MEGDA. 


but  now  she  could  not.  She  could  not  tell  why  they 
hurt  her,  but  they  did.  She  did  not  feel  as  she  used ; 
somehow  an  indescribable  feeling  had  crept  into  her 
heart  of  late  —  at  times  she  felt  almost  sad.  She 
said  nothing  about  it  to  anyone,  except,  to  Jesus. 
Yes,  she  did  tell  Him  of  it,  and  asked  Him  "to  make 
it  all  right."  Poor  little  Laurie  was  not  blessed  with 
particularly  brilliant  conversational  powers,  and  in  her 
prayers  to  Him  she  used  the  plain,  simple  language 
of  a  child,  vaguely  wishing  that  she  could  express  her- 
self to  Him  better,  and  little  knowing  that  she  was 
going  to  Him  in  just  the  way  he  liked  best  to  have 
His  children  come.  He  was  even  now  answering  her 
prayer  for  help  and  filling  her  heart  with  a  great 
peace  and  happiness  that  she  had  never  known  in  all 
her  happy  young  life  before. 

Little  did  Meg  think,  as  she  looked  laughingly 
down  into  the  little  face  beside  her,  what  thoughts 
were  in  the  girlish  heart.  What  would  she  have  said 
if  she  had  known  ? 

Ethel  came  in  shortly  after  the  girls  were  seated 
and  leaned  over  Meg's  chair  as  she  passed  her. 
"Wasn't  that  a  comforting  sermon,  Girlie?" 

"  A  most  finely  delivered  one,"  answered  Meg,  with 
her  most  mischievous  smile,  and  Ethel  passed  on  with 
a  look  of  pain. 


IN  THE    VESTRY.  133 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Randal,"  said  a  voice  at  Meg's 
side. 

Meg  started.  Mr.  Stanley  was  standing  close 
beside  her.  "They  say  listeners  never  hear  any 
good  of  themselves,"  flashed  Meg,  forgetting  herself 
in  her  surprise  and  vexation.  "But  you  can  testify 
to  the  contrary,  can't  you  ? " 

Mr.  Stanley's  face  flushed  a  little,  and  the  smile 
that  had  lighted  it  when  he  spoke  to  Meg,  vanished. 
He  bowed  very  gravely. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Randal,  but  you  wrong 
me.  I  am  not  guilty  of  the  charge."  Then  he  turned 
to  the  others  who  had  not  heard  the  low-spoken  con- 
versation. "Young  ladies,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "your 
teacher,  Mrs.  Langley,  was  taken  suddenly  ill  this 
morning  and  I  have  been  requested  by  your  superin- 
tendent to  supply  her  place.  I  fear  I  shall  prove 
but  a  poor  substitute  for  so  excellent  a  teacher,  but  I 
will  do  my  best." 

All  the  girls  smiled  and  flushed,  and  altogether 
looked  so  pleased  that  Mr.  Stanley  could  not  but  see 
that  he  was  kindly  received.  There  was  a  little  pause 
after  he  had  spoken,  the  girls  were  waiting  for  their 
"leader"  to  respond,  but  their  "leader,"  for  the  first 
time  in  their  remembrance,  was  dumb,  and  so  Ethel 
took  her  place. 


134  MEGDA. 


"You  are  very  kind,  indeed,  to  take  our  teacher's 
place,  Mr.  Stanley,"  she  said  in  her  sweet,  calm,  lady- 
like way;  "but  please  allow  us  to  be  the  best  judges 
of  your  ability." 

He  looked  at  her  admiringly,  and  made  some  smil- 
ing reply;  then  he  commenced  the  lesson.  He  did 
not  look  at  Meg,  except  when  he  asked  her  a  ques- 
tion, and  then  his  eyes  rested  upon  her  briefly  and 
carelessly.  Meg's  proud  heart  swelled  almost  to 
bursting.  She  was  angry  with  him,  with  Ethel,  with 
everyone  in  the  class,  but  most  of  all,  with  herself. 
What  had  she  done?  He  had  told  her  that  she 
wronged  him.  She  had  done  worse  than  that  — r-  she 
had  insulted  him.  The  idea  of  accusing  him  of 
listening. 

She  could  not  put  her  mind  on  the  lesson;  she 
answered  all  the  questions  asked  her,  correctly  —  Meg 
always  had  a  good  lesson  —  but  she  felt  perfectly 
miserable.  Could  Ethel  have  done  what  she  did, 
purposely  ? 

"She  might  have  known  how  I  would  answer  her," 
thought  Meg  bitterly.  "  If  she  did  do  it  purposely, 
the  act  was  worthy  of  Maude  Leonard  herself,  and  I 
can  say  nothing  worse  about  it.  What  will  he  think 
of  me?  That  I  am  not  a  tenth  part  of  a  lady,  no 
doubt,  and  I  cannot  blame  him  if  he  does.  How  he 


IN  THE    VESTRY.  135 

admires  Ethel.  And  I  don't  blame  him  for  that, 
either.  She  looks  all  that  is  to  be  desired  —  good, 
sweet,  tender  and,  above  all,  a  perfect  lady." 

To  look  and  act  like  a  " perfect  lady"  was  Meg's 
idea  of  perfection  itself.  She  wanted  to  be  loved,  to 
be  admired,  to  be  considered  a  perfect  lady  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  and  then  she  was  sure  of  perfect 
happiness.  Thus  far  in  her  life,  she  had  had  what 
she  had  desired,  and  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  her- 
self; but  now  —  pshaw!  she  wouldn't  trouble  her 
head  about  it. 

After  the  lesson,  Mr.  Stanley  took  the  few  remain- 
ing minutes  for  a  general  talk.  He  spoke  so  easily, 
yet  so  earnestly  to  them,  that  all  were  drawn  out  to 
say  something,  even  timid  little  Laurie;  but  Meg 
never  opened  her  lips.  Mr.  Stanley  did  not  appear  to 
notice  her  silence — "He  is  too  much  taken  up  with 
Ethel  for  that,"  thought  Meg.  "  How  earnest  Laurie 
looks ;  she  will  be  speaking  in  prayer-meeting  the 
next  thing.  Even  Lill  and  Lulu  appear  interested, 
and  Dell  has  a  pink  spot  on  each  cheek  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  I  verily  believe.  Am  I  the  only 
heathen  in  the  class  ?  It  seems  so.  They  have  all 
apparently  forgotten  me  —  thanks  to  my  reverend 
friend." 

Meg   was   growing   more   and   more    bitter    every 


136  MEGDA. 


moment;  the  sensation  was  an  entirely  new  one  to 
her;  she,  who  had  always  been  so  happy,  so  sweet 
and  so  friendly  toward  everybody.  I  do  not  know 
what  state  of  unhappiness  she  would  have  reached, 
had  not  the  superintendent's  bell  put  a  stop  to  all 
talking  and  thinking  as  well.  Mr.  Stanley  took  his 
chair,  and  with  a  low  "  Pardon  me,"  to  Meg,  placed  it 
by  her  side  and  sat  down.  She  drew  her  dress  care- 
lessly away  with  one  hand  and  bent  her  head  haugh- 
tily. He  said  nothing  to  her  during  the  remainder  of 
the  exercises,  but  when  the  closing  hymn  was  given 
out,  he  found  the  place  and  offered  to  share  his  book 
with  her.  She  thanked  him  with  another  haughty 
bend  of  the  head.  The  hymn  was  "Come,"  in  num- 
ber three.  Meg  did  not  intend  to  sing  when  she 
stood  up,  but  it  was  as  natural  for  her  to  sing  as  it 
was  to  breathe,  and  before  the  first  verse  was  finished, 
her  sweet,  clear  voice  was  ringing  out  high  above  the 
others.  She  stole  a  glance  at  Mr.  Stanley  to  see 
how  her  singing  was  impressing  him.  The  expres- 
sion of  his  face  caused  a  little  smile  to  play  around 
her  lips,  and  she  threw  all  the  beautiful  pathos  her 
voice  was  possessed  of  into  the  remainder  of  the 
hymn. 

When  it  was  finished  and  she  stole  another  look  at 
the  strong,  earnest  face  beside  her,  the  smile  changed 


IN  THE   VESTRY.  137 

to  a  look  of  startled  surprise,  for  the  dark-blue  eyes 
were  certainly  filled  with  tears.  He  turned  to  her 
after  the  short  prayer,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  Thank 
you,  Miss  Randal,"  he  said  simply. 

Proud,  impulsive  Meg  put  her  little  hand  in  his. 
"Do  not  thank  me,  Mr.  Stanley;  but  forgive  me  for 
speaking  to  you  as  I  did." 

A  smile  lighted  up  his  whole  face.  "I  will  forgive 
it  when  I  recall  it,"  he  said.  Then  the  girls  came 
crowding  out,  and  Meg  found  herself  walking  down 
the  aisle  between  Dell  and  Laurie,  yet  half  doubtful 
as  to  whether  it  were  really  herself  and  not  some  one 
else.  When  had  she  ever  asked  anyone's  forgiveness 
before !  Never,  to  her  knowledge.  And  yet,  she  did 
not  feel  ashamed  for  having  done  so,  but  on  the  con- 
trary she  felt  happier  than  she  had  felt  for  a  week. 
Besides,  she  had  only  done  what  was  right  —  what  she 
ought  to  have  done  —  so,  of  course,  there  was  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of. 

The  next  morning,  as  Meg  was  on  her  way  to 
Madam  de  Crando's,  the  "essay  affair"  burst  upon 
her  mind  for  the  first  time  since  Friday  night.  Her 
resolution  was  quickly  taken.  Immediately  after  tak- 
ing off  her  things  in  the  dressing-room,  she  went  to 
madam's  private  office.  That  lady  looked  a  little  sur- 
prised at  so  early  a  caller,  but  Meg  soon  turned  the 


138  MEGDA. 


look  of  surprise  into  one  of  pleasure  by  holding  out 
the  lost  essay,  and  saying  briefly,  "My  essay  has 
been  found,  madam." 

Madam  took  it  with  a  smile.  "  Indeed,  I  am  glad 
to  hear  it.  Where  was  it  found  ? " 

"In  the  dressing-room  behind  the  blind." 

"Ah!  You  laid  it  there  for  safe  keeping,  I  pre- 
sume, and  forgot  that  you  did  so." 

Meg  made  no  reply.  Madam  seated  herself  in  her 
arm-chair.  "  I  trust  you  will  learn  a  lesson  in  careful- 
ness from  this,  Miss  Randal.  Had  the  essay  not  been 
found,  an  innocent  girl  would  have  had  to  suffer  for 
your  carelessness.  I  am  more  pleased  than  I  can  say, 
that  I  shall  be  able  to  take  Ruth  back;  it  would  have 
been  a  hard  thing  for  me  to  lose  her,  particularly  in 
such  a  manner." 

Still  Meg  said  never  a  word.  "Who  found  the 
essay,  Miss  Randal?" 

"Laurie." 

"When?" 

"Friday  afternoon  after  I  had  seen  you." 

"Do  you  remember  of  putting  it  there  ? " 

Passionate  words  rose  to  Meg's  lips,  but  she  forced 
them  bravely  back.  "No,  madam,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  very  strange ;  you  have  never  been  guilty  of 
such  carelessness  before,  that  I  can  remember  of. 


IN  THE    VESTRY.  139 

However,  I  think  I  may  trust  to  your  not  being  guilty 
of  it  again.     You  are  excused." 

Meg  left  the  room,  angry,  but  not  the  least  humili- 
ated. As  she  opened  the  door,  Maude  Leonard  glided 
quickly  away  from  it.  Meg  dashed  after  her  and 
caught  her  just  as  she  was  disappearing  into  the 
library.  Sorry  am  I  to  relate  what  Meg  then  did! 
She  seized  Maude  by  both  shoulders  and  shook  her 
until  all  her  heavy  black  hair  tumbled  down  her  back 
and  the  pins  flew  far  and  wide. 

"There,  Jezebel,"  said  Meg,  between  her  shut  teeth, 
and  giving  her  a  parting  push  that  almost  sent  her 
down  upon  her  knees,  Meg  ran  up  stairs  to  the  "  sen- 
ior's parlor,"  threw  herself  down  upon  the  lounge,  and 
laughed  till  she  cried. 

In  this  state  Ethel  found  her,  coming  in  five  min- 
utes later.  She  went  up  to  the  lounge  and  bent  over 
her.  "Why,  Girlie,  what  have  you  found  to  laugh 
at  so  early  in  the  day?  Tell  me,  so  I  may  laugh, 
too." 

But  the  sight  of  Ethel  only  made  Meg  laugh  the 
harder.  What  would  she  say  if  she  were  to  teH  her 
what  she  had  done.  The  very  thought  of  Ethel's 
dismay  —  not  to  say  horror,  sent  Meg  off  into  a  per- 
fect gale,  and  Ethel  was  obliged  to  sink  down  into 
one  of  the  easy  chairs  and  laugh,  too,  though  she 


140  MEGDA. 


did  not  know  at  what.  But  Meg's  laugh  was  always 
contageous. 

At  last  Meg  sat  up  on  the  lounge  and  dried  her 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  "Tell  me  what  it  was, 
Girlie,"  said  Ethel,  seating  herself  beside  Meg,  and 
passing  her  arm  lovingly  around  her  waist. 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  Ethel,"  gasped  Meg.  "Noth- 
ing that  would  please  you,"  and  then  she  went  off 
into  another  gale. 

"Try  me  and  see,"  said  Ethel  smiling.. 

"Oh,  it  was  only  —  well,  Ethel,  it  was  nothing, 
really.  I  was  only  indulging  in  private  theatricals, 
and  you  don't  believe  in  them,  you  know." 

Ethel  brushed  back  the  bright  hair  from  Meg's  hot 
brow.  "  No,  dear,  I  have  no  room  in  my  heart  for 
them;  it  is  already  full  to  overflowing." 

Meg  drew  herself  away  from  the  tender  hand. 
"  Full  to  overflowing,  Ethel  ?  Well,  that  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at.  You  have  everything  to  make  you 
happy.  A  beautiful  home,  loving,  indulgent  parents, 
all  the  money  you  want,  and  consequently,  friends 
ditto  —  a  happy,  untroubled  future  before  you.  Whose 
heart  would  not  be  full  to  overflowing?  Mine  would, 
under  those  circumstances." 

"The  things  you  have  mentioned,  Girlie,  are  not 
what  make  me  so  happy.  I  am  thankful  for  them  — 


IN  THE    VESTRY.  141 

deeply  and  truly  thankful ;  but  they  are  not  what  fill 
my  heart  to  overflowing." 

"No?"  said  Meg,  lifting  her  eyebrows.  "What  is 
it,  then?" 

"Jesus." 

The  low,  solemn  voice  drove  the  mocking  light  out 
of  Meg's  eyes,  and  the  laughter  from  her  face.  She 
forgot  Maude  and  everything  else,  in  looking  at  the 
pale,  lovely  face  before  her  —  lovely,  with  the  sweet, 
solemn  light  upon  it. 

Meg  drew  nearer  and  nestled  her  head  against 
Ethel's  shoulder  in  her  old,  caressing  way,  and 
Ethel's  arms  quickly  encircled  her  and  held  her  close 
and  sure. 

"Open  your  heart  to  this  great  love,  Girlie.  All 
you  have  got  to  do  is  to  say,  'I  am  a  sinner;  dear 
Jesus,  forgive  me.'  Then  your  heart  will  be  as  full 
of  this  great  happiness  as  mine  is.  Oh,  Girlie,  give 
yourself  to  Him ;  you  will  not  know  what  perfect 
peace  and  happiness  is,  until  you  do." 

Meg's  eyes  were  moist,  but  she  still  laughed 
lightly.  "But,  Ethel,  I  have  never  committed  any 
great  sin ;  and  I  am  happy  —  I  have  always  been  so. 
I  scarcely  know  what  it  is  to  feel  sad." 

Ethel  looked  wistfully  into  the  fair,  girlish  face  on 
her  shoulder  —  so  bright,  so  sunny,  so  laughing. 


142  MEGDA. 


Would  she  have  to  taste  of  sorrow  before  she  could 
know  of  this  heavenly  joy  ?  Would  that  be  the  way 
in  which  she  would  be  led  to  the  Saviour  ?  "  God 
grant  not,"  was  the  earnest  prayer  of  Ethel's  heart. 

"  I  know  you  have  always  been  happy,  Girlie,  but 
the  happiness  of  which  I  speak  is  entirely  different 
from  any  you  have  ever  felt.  It  is  a  peaceful,  restful 
feeling.  It  makes  you  loving  and  forgiving.  You 
not  only  love  your  friends,  but  you  love  your  enemies. 
You  are  young  now  —  trouble  has  never  come  to  you 
—  but  it  will  come;  it  must  come  some  day  as  it 
comes  to  all,  and  then  you  will  need  the  Father.  Oh, 
Girlie,  it  is  so  blessed  to  know  that  whenever  you  call 
on  Him  for  help,  He  is  ready  to  give  it.  When  you 
feel  sick,  and  tired  and  unhappy,  just  go  to  Him  and 
lay  your  head  on  His  breast,  and  He  will  fold  His 
dear  loving  arms  around  you,  and  soothe  and  comfort 
you  into  rest.  It  is  a  blessed  feeling  —  a  blessed 
feeling." 

Ethel's  arms  had  relaxed  their  hold  of  Meg,  and  she 
was  looking  before  her  with  dreamy,  happy  eyes. 
Meg  was  almost  afraid  to  speak,  and  sat  and  looked 
at  her. 

As  she  looked,  a  feeling  crept  into  her  heart  — 
a  strange,  happy,  peaceful  feeling.  It  seemed  to 
Meg  that  her  heart  must  be  drawing  this  feeling 


IN  THE    VESTRY.  143 

from  Ethel's  face.  She  had  never  felt  like  this 
before. 

"Do  you  feel  this  perfect  peace  and  happiness, 
Ethel  ? "  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  Girlie;  and  I  have  felt  it  ever  since  I  gave 
my  heart  to  the  Saviour." 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  feel  it  as  you  do,  Ethel,"  cried 
Meg  suddenly.  "But  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I 
have  always  been  so  happy,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
always  felt  satisfied;  but  I  don't  just  now.  Why  is 
it?" 

Ethel  drew  Meg  to  her  with  a  low,  happy  laugh. 
"Ah,  that  is  just  it,  Girlie;  you  have  never  stopped 
to  think  whether  you  were  satisfied  or  not.  Oh,  I 
hope  and  pray  you  may  never  feel  satisfied  again, 
until  you  make  a  full  and  complete  surrender  of  this 
priceless  little  heart  of  yours." 

Meg  smiled.  "  But,  Ethel,  if  I  do  that,  then  I  shall 
have  to  surrender  other  things  as  well." 

"  What  other  things,  Girlie  ? " 

"I  shall  have  to  give  up  my  social  pleasures  —  danc- 
ing, the  theater  and,  oh,  Ethel !  I  do  love  the  world 
and  what  it  gives  me — I  cannot  help  it." 

"For  all  these  things  He  will  give  you  a  robe  of 
whiteness  and  a  crown  of  beauty  that  fadeth  not 
away." 


144  MEGDA. 


Meg  was  clinging  to  Ethel  now.  "  Oh,  Ethel,  if  I 
could  only  feel  it ;  if  I  did  not  love  the  world  and  its 
pleasures  so ! " 

"Give  yourself  to  Him,  Girlie  —  that  is  all.     Say  — 

"  Just  as  I  am  without  one  plea, 
But  that  Thy  blood  was  shed  for  me; 
And  that  thou  bidd'st  me  come  to  Thee, 
O,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  " ; 

and  He  will  fill  your  heart  and  life  with  such  divine 
blessings,  that  it  will  have  no  room  for  these  things 
that  make  you  happy  for  but  a  little  while,  and  then 
leave  you  restless  and  dissatisfied." 

"I  will  try  it,  Ethel  —  I  will  begin  at  once;  and 
will  you  pray  for  me  ? " 

Ethel's  face  was  radiant  as  she  answered:  "Pray 
for  you,  Girlie  ?  Yes,  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  and 
strength ;  every  hour  of  the  day  and  every  minute  of 
the  hour.  And  pray  for  yourself,  Girlie;  He  will 
certainly  hear  and  answer  your  prayers." 

One  of  the  doors  down  stairs  closed  with  a  bang, 
and  light  feet  came  running  up  the  stairs.  A  clear, 
girlish  voice  sang : 

"  Little  Fisher-maiden, 
Skies  with  storms  are  laden ; 
'Tempt  no  more  across  the  sea, 
Dangers  waiting  there  for  thee," 


IN  THE    VESTRY.  145 

and  in  a  moment  more  May  Bromley  thrust  her  saucy 
head  into  the  room. 

"  Oh,  you  are  here,  are  you,  Megda  ?  Been  looking 
high  and  low  for  you.  We  have  just  ten  minutes 
before  that  heartless  bell  rings ;  come  out  here  and 
try  the  'Military  schottische ' ;  the  floor  is  in  fine  con- 
dition—  so  is  my  whistle.  Come  on,  madam  will 
never  hear  ;  I'll  do  it  softly." 

Meg  opened  her  lips  to  say  "  No,"  but  just  then 
May  picked  her  skirts  up  daintily  with  both  hands, 
and  went  skimming  down  the  smooth,  polished  floor, 
whistling  softly  the  "Nightingale  Schottische." 

The  sound  and  the  sight  made  Meg's  heart  beat 
quickly.  She  went  to  the  door  and  watched  May  a 
moment,  keeping  time  to  the  dance  with  her  hands, 
then  her  feet  commenced  to  keep  the  time,  too,  and 
when  May  came  around  to  where  she  was  standing, 
Meg  slipped  her  arm  around  her  waist,  and  down  the 
long  hall  they  went  lightly  and  gracefully. 

Ethel  looked  after  them,  but  there  was  a  smile  on 
her  face.  "  She  loves  dancing ;  loves  it  better  than 
anyone  I  ever  knew,  but  she  will  give  it  up;  I  feel 
sure  she  will  step  over  the  line  before  many  days. 
God  will  claim  her  as  His  own  in  His  own  good  time. 
I  can  trust  him." 


146  MEGDA. 


XI. 

THE  ENTERTAINMENT. 

TUESDAY    evening,   November   25,    1889.      The 
evening  of  the  first  Grand  Entertainment  given 
by  the  "Young  People's  Literary  Society  of  -    — ." 

Four  weeks  of  study  and  practice  had  brought 
everything  to  a  successful  point;  that  is,  it  would 
prove  successful  if  the  young  actors  and  actresses  did 
as  well  on  the  evening  of  the  25th,  as  they  did  at  the 
last  rehearsal,  Nov.  24.  Not  a  word  of  fault  could 
the  exacting  young  "leader"  find  with  her  "troupe" ; 
each  one  did  his  and  her  part  perfectly.  Perhaps 
Margaret  Mather  would  have  smiled  with  superior 
scorn  on  Meg's  personation  of  the  murderous  "  Lady 
Macbeth";  and  Miles  Levick  might  have  looked 
upon  the  efforts  of  Will  Duncan  in  his  representation 
of  the  unhappy  "Macbeth  "  as  infant's  work,  but  the 
privileged  few  who  witnessed  the  rehearsal  of  this 
tragedy  of  Shakespeare,  were  loud  in  their  praises, 
and  Melvin  Pierce  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  if 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  147 

Shakespeare  had  lived  to  see  this  hour,  his  pride 
would  have  been  so  great  that  it  would  have  killed 
him. 

"  If  he  could  only  be  here  for  this  one  night,  Miss 
Randal,"  he  said  to  Meg,  as  they  stood  together 
behind  the  " scenes",  "I  know  he  would  say,  with 
his  last  breath,  'Thank  heaven  for  permitting  me,  at 
last,  to  see  my  ideal  "  Lady  Macbeth  "  ! '  " 

" Thank  you,  Mr.  Pierce,"  replied  Meg  gravely. 
"Then  you  think  it  would  prove  'sure  death'  to 
him?" 

"Joy  often  kiss,"  said  Melvin  with  admirable  quick- 
ness of -thought. 

Meg  laughed.  "There  is  no  getting  ahead  of  you, 
Melvin.  Just  let  me  take  a  peep,  will  you,  please? 
I  want  to  see  if  we  are  going  to  have  a  full  house." 

Melvin  drew  the  curtain  aside,  and  Meg  peeped 
out.  Yes,  the  large  room  was  very  nearly  filled,  and 
it  still  wanted  fifteen  minutes  to  the  hour  appointed ; 
but  the  face  she  looked  particularly  for  was  not  there. 
She  experienced  a  feeling  of  regret  not  unmixed  with 
anger,  as  she  scanned  the  audience  closely.  No,  he 
was  not  there.  "I  suppose  he  would  as  soon  be 
guilty  of  going  to  the  '  Musee '  as  of  coming  here 
to-night,"  she  thought  bitterly.  "  He  looks  upon  us 
as  a  pack  of  heathen." 


148  MEGDA. 


"I  say,"  observed  Melvin,  craning  his  neck  to  look 
over  Meg's  head,  "  we  are  going  to  have  more  than  a 
full  house ;  we'll  clear  fifty  dollars,  if  we  do  a  cent. 
There's  Judge  and  Mrs.  Lawton,  but  Ethel  isn't  with 
them.  I  suppose  she  is  having  a  private  prayer-meet- 
ing over  our  sinful  actions.  Oh,  ahem !  there  comes 
Miss  Maude  Leonard  alias  'Miss  Nippy-Piety.'  Did 
you  ever  see  such  a  sanctimonious  expression  on 
anyone's  face  in  your  life,  Meg  ?  And  see  how  she 
nips  along,  as  if  the  floor  was  hardly  good  enough  for 
her  to  walk  on.  I  bet,  if  the  truth  were  known,  she 
walks  that  way  because  her  shoes  are  so  plaguey 
tight.  Well,  upon  my  word !  here  come  Deacons 
Ray  and  Fly-Catcher.  You've  mistaken  the  evening, 
my  brethren"  -  —this  in  his  most  affable  tones —  "it  is 
Tuesday  not  Thursday  evening." 

"Be  quiet,  Melvin,"  giggled  Meg.  "You  should 
respect  gray  hairs,  if  nothing  more." 

"And  don't  I?" 

"  No.  Why  don't  you  call  Deacon  Huntly  by  his 
right  name  ? " 

"I  beg  the  old  gent's  pardon;  but  —  by  jove,  Meg, 
he's  at  it  so  soon  !  " 

Meg  could  not  help  laughing.  The  young  men  had 
given  the  pseudonym  of  "  Fly-Catcher "  to  good  old 
Deacon  Huntly,  for  the  reason  that  he  invariably  sat 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  149 

with  his  mouth  open.  The  width  of  the  opening 
depended  altogether  on  the  degree  of  interest  he 
experienced  in  whatever  was  passing  before  him ;  the 
deeper  his  interest,  the  wider  the  opening. 

"Dear  old  chappie,"  murmured  Melvin,  affection- 
ately; "he  is  doing  it  from  mere  force  of  habit. 
Hallo,  here  comes  Brother  Norton,  Meg ! " 

Meg  turned  hastily  at  the  horrified  tone. 

"The  moths  have  gotten  into  his  hair  and  laid  the 
corner-stone  for  a  skating-rink!  As  true  as  I'm  a 
sinner!" 

Meg  came  very  near  betraying  herself  to  the  people 
outside,  in  the  laugh  she  commenced,  but  strangled. 
"You  ridiculous  boy,"  she  said,  choking  herself  with 
her  handkerchief.  "  Let  me  pass ;  you  will  disgrace 
yourself  and  me,  too." 

"No,  don't  go;  I  haven't  had  so  much  fun  since  I 
was  an  infant,"  pleaded  Melvin,  holding  her  by  the 
arm.  "See,  here  comes  old  lady  Bently  and  her  brood 
of  little  ones ;  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six  —  six  fair 
daughters  of  Ev(e)il  ones  to  be  wooed  and  won.  The 
man  that  can  look  on  that  sight  and  not  be  touched 
must  be  w65(e)d  or  stone,  or  something  even  harder." 

Meg  turned  indignantly.  "Melvin  Pierce,  you 
make  any  more  of  your  miserable  little  puns  and  I'll 
leave  you." 


150  MEGDA. 


Melvin's  face  assumed  a  frightened  expression. 
"Oh,  I  won't,  Meg,  I  won't;  a  —  pun  (upon)  my  word 
I  won't" 

Meg  overlooked  this  last  as  being  unworthy  of 
notice,  and  turned  to  take  one  more  long  look.  Both 
were  silent  for  a  moment,  then  Melvin  broke  the 
silence  by  exclaiming,  "For  the  good  Lord's  sake  — 
beg  pardon,  Meg,  I  don't  mean  to  be  irreverent  —  but 
if  here  doesn't  come  our  parson.  Let  us  pray." 

Sure  enough,  Mr.  Stanley  was  at  that  moment 
entering  the  room.  He  was  alone.  The  usher 
showed  him  to  a  seat  in  the  center  aisle.  Mr.  Stan- 
ley stooped  to  place  his  hat  under  the  seat  in  front  of 
him.  Meg  saw  him  smile  and  bow,  then  he  arose  and 
stepped  across  the  aisle,  and  accepted  the  chair  which 
was  graciously  offered  him  by  Mrs.  Lawton.  Meg 
saw  this,  and  then  she  turned  to  Melvin  with  a  look 
of  displeasure  on  her  fair  face. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  be  more  particular  in  your  man- 
ner of  expression  when  you  are  with  me,  Melvin,"  she 
said,  coldly.  "  Your  remark  sounded  irreverent,  if 
you  did  not  mean  for  it  to  be,"  and  she  swept  away 
from  him  with  the  air  of  an  injured  queen. 

Poor  Melvin  looked  after  her  in  dismay.  He  was 
not  displeased;  no  one  ever  felt  displeased  with  Meg, 
no  matter  what  she  might  say  or  do  —  but  he  was 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  151 

more  than  surprised.  He  had  not  meant  to  be  irrev- 
erent—  he  had  only  said  it  to  make  her  laugh.  "  And 
at  one  time  she  would  have  gone  into  fits  over  it,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  went  to  help  Will  don  his 
"stage  attire."  "What  in  the  world  has  come  over 
the  spirit  of  her  dreams,  I  wonder.  Is  she  turning 
pious  ?  Come  to  think  of  it,  she  hasn't  been  quite  so 
lively  lately  ;  she  has  seemed  more  thoughtful.  Well, 
all  I  can  say  is,  that  if  Meg  Randal  would  become  a 
Christian,  there  isn't  a  minister  living  who  could  do 
the  good  that  she  could.  She  has  done  me  a  little  bit 
of  good  so  soon.  Such  expressions  are  not  right, 
although  I  have  never  thought  about  it  before,  and 
I'll  quit  making  them.  Many  thanks,  friend  Megda." 

Meg  would  have  laughed  if  she  had  known  Melvin's 
thoughts.  The  moment  after  she  had  spoken,  she 
was  almost  sorry  for  what  she  had  said.  "  Whatever 
made  me  say  it  ?"  she  asked  herself.  "I  am  sure  he 
did  not  mean  to  be  wicked,  and  I  have  laughed  at 
worse  things  than  that  from  him  many  a  time.  Poor 
Melvin !  he  is  so  good-natured ;  he  will  do  anything 
for  me.  But  somehow,  his  words  sent  a  chill  over  me 
to-night.  I  could  not  laugh  at  them  —  but  I  needn't 
have  taken  his  head  off.  I'll  run  back  and  tell  him 
how  sorry  I  am." 

"  Oh,  Meg,  here  you  are ;  I've  been  looking  every- 


152  MEGDA. 


where  for  you.  Do  fasten  this  spray  of  lilies-of-the- 
valley  in  my  hair,  will  you?"  and  Dell  stood  in  the 
door  of  the  temporary  dressing-room  with  a  beseech- 
ing look  on  her  lovely  face. 

"Well,"  thought  Meg,  "Til  tell  him  later." 

Oh,  what  a  laughing,  talking,  excited  group  there 
was  in  the  small  room,  and  how  pretty  and  girlish 
they  looked,  too  !  Meg  was  the  calmest  one,  and  she 
had  more  to  do  than  all  the  rest  put  together. 

Dell  looked  perfectly  lovely  in  her  pale-pink  dress 
with  a  spray  of  lilies-of-the-valley  on  her  breast  and 
another  in  the  braids  of  her  golden  hair.  Laurie 
wore  pale  blue  and  had  velvety  yellow  pansies  for  her 
flowers.  She  looked  like  a  big  wax  doll.  Meg  wore 
her  favorite  pure  white  cashmere.  A  large  bunch  of 
exquisite  white  roses  was  in  her  belt.  She  looked 
pale,  but  oh,  so  girlishly  sweet  and  pure.  The  girls 
hovered  around  her,  proud  of  their  queen. 

The  first  selection  on  the  programme  was  a  piano 
duet  by  "Miss  Manton "  and  "Miss  Randal."  A 
burst  of  applause  greeted  the  two  young  pianists  as 
they  appeared  on  the  platform,  and  such  remarks  as : 
"Don't  they  look  lovely!"  "What  a  beautiful  con- 
trast!" "Don't  they  look  too  sweet  for  anything!" 
went  floating  through  the  room. 

Of  course  Dell  and  Meg  both  heard  —  that  is,  they 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  153 

heard  the  whispers  and  knew  they  were  of  praise  and 
admiration;  but  no  one  looking  at  them  would  ever 
suspect  it.  Dell  went  forward  and  took  her  seat  at 
the  piano  with  her  cool,  matter-of-fact  air.  Meg 
smiled  a  little  and  seated  herself  with  the  "slow 
grace "  that  came  so  natural  to  her.  Mr.  Stanley, 
looking  at  her,  thought,  "How  proud  her  mother 
must  be  of  her!"  and  looked  to  see  if  she  showed  her 
pride  in  her  face. 

Ah,  did  she  not  ?  It  was  impossible  for  that 
mother  to  hide  the  little,  tremulous  smile  that  would 
hover  around  her  lips  as  she  looked  at  her  darling 
and  heard  the  murmured  words  of  praise  all  around 
her.  Elsie,  too,  forgot  everything  else,  and  saw  noth- 
ing but  that  girlish,  white-robed  form,  while  Hal, 
from  his  place  behind  the  "scenes"  looked  out  and 
smiled  proudly  to  himself.  Oh,  Meg,  what  a  happy, 
happy  girl,  and  what  a  thankful  girl  you  ought  to  be ! 

After  the  duet  came  a  tenor  solo  by  Mr.  Edwin 
Holmes.  Dell  played  his  accompaniment,  as  Meg's 
reading  came  next.  The  song  Mr.  Holmes  had 
selected  was  "My  Queen,"  by  "Blumenthal."  Ed 
had  a  good  voice,  and  his  rendering  of  the  difficult 
piece  was  good  —  remarkably  so;  but  the  effect  was 
somewhat  spoiled  by  his  turning  his  eyes  in  quite  a 
love-sick  fashion  on  Dell,  every  time  he  sang,  "Ere  I 


154  MEGDA. 


cease  to  love  thee,  my  Queen,  my  Queen."  Dell  was 
supremely  unconscious  of  his  rapturous  glances,  her 
mind  as  well  as  her  eyes,  being  on  her  music,  but 
they  afforded  unbounded  amusement  to  Melvin  Pierce, 
Bert  Marston  and  Ha],  who  were  looking  at  him 
through  a  hole  in  the  curtain.  They  were  obliged  to 
go  into  a  corner  where  they  could  slap  their  knees, 
bend  their  bodies,  draw  up  their  legs  and  otherwise 
contort  themselves;  while  Ed,  in  happy  ignorance, 
ended  his  passionate  cry  of  "  My  Qneen,  ah,  my 
Queen ! "  in  one  long,  lingering  wail  and  a  last  look  at 
Dell,  who  struck  the  closing  chords  clearly  and  sharply 
and  then  rose  to  her  feet  and  swept  on  before  him 
without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  him.  And  there  he 
had  been  emptying  his  heart  before  her  and  she  didn't 
even  dream  of  it. 

Meg's  reading  came  next.  She  had  chosen  for  her 
first  selection  "The  Polish  Boy,"  by  "Mrs.  Ann  S. 
Stephens."  I  shall  not  stop  to  give  an  explanation  of 
the  piece,  except  to  say  that  it  is  one  of  the  grandest 
things  of  its  kind  that  was  ever  written.  Those  who 
have  heard  or  read  it,  I  am  sure  will  agree  with  me. 
Meg's  rendering  of  it,  as  an  amateur,  was  exceedingly 
fine,  especially  in  that  part  where  the  poor  mother  in 
her  agony,  love,  fear  and  self-forgetfulness,  pleads  for 
the  life  of  her  boy  in  the  passionate  words : 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  155 

"  Take  me,  and  bind  these  arms,  these  hands, 
With  Russia's  heaviest  iron  bands, 
And  drag  me  to  Siberia's  wild, 
To  perish,  if  'twill  save  my  child !  " 

Meg  threw  all  the  force  she  was  capable  of  in  her 
voice  and  expression.  Her  gestures  were  graceful 
and  natural;  the  audience  showed  their  appreciation 
of  her  effort  in  that  truest  praise  of  all  —  complete, 
breathless  silence.  At  the  last  gasping  cry  of  the 
dying  boy,  as  he  lay  his  head  on  his  dead  mother's 
breast :  "  Great  God !  I  thank  thee !  Mother,  I  rejoice 
with  thee  —  and  thus  —  to  die!"  a  long,  quivering 
sob  sounded  on  the  deep  stillness  of  the  room. 

It  was  from  Elsie  who,  with  her  eyes  fastened  on 
her  sister,  and  her  lips  parted,  utterly  forgot  where 
she  was. 

As  Meg  bent  gracefully  before  the  audience,  a 
storm  of  applause  burst  forth ;  there  was  scarcely  a 
dry  eye  in  the  whole  room ;  people  looked  at  one 
another  in  astonishment.  Everyone  knew  that  Meg 
had  elocutionary  talent,  but  to-night  she  had  sur- 
passed herself.  They  gave  her  a  hearty  encore ;  she 
was  not  prepared  to  respond  with  a  recitation,  but 
she  came  out  and  acknowledged  their  compliment 
with  a  low,  graceful  bow.  Mr.  Stanley  smiled  at  her 
girlish  triumph  —  or  rather  at  her  manner  of  receiv- 
ing it.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  she  were  trying  to  act 


156  MEGDA. 


as  she  had  seen  great  actresses,  and  I  truly  believe 
she  was  myself. 

Dell's  contralto  solo  came  next.  She  received  her 
praise  in  the  cool,  matter-of-fact  way  characteristic  of 
her.  -Her  manner  amused  Mr.  Stanley  even  more 
than  Meg's  had.  "  Not  a  girl  of  the  period,  at  all 
events,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Her  great  beauty  does 
not  spoil  her.  I  like  her." 

Laurie  played  a  duet  with  Dell,  and  almost  fainted 
from  sheer  fright  before  it  was  finished,  but  she 
looked  so  bewitchingly  pretty  that  the  audience  gave 
her  a  hearty  applause. 

The  quartette,  "Misses  Randal  and  Manton"  and 
"Messrs.  Duncan  and  Holmes,"  outdid  themselves, 
and  were  obliged  to  respond  to  two  tremendous 
encores.  Meg  recited  "The  Widow's  Light,"  by 
"Marianne  Farmingham,"  tenderly,  and  in  a  subdued 
manner,  which  was  just  what  was  needed.  Dell  sang 
"Calvary,"  and  sung  it  gloriously.  Then  came  the 
scene  from  "Macbeth." 

When  I  write  this,  it  seems  as  if  I  must  stop  and 
rest,  with  my  pen  in  my  hand,  while  my  thoughts 
travel  back  and  dwell  upon  this  part  of  that  night's 
proceedings.  Can  anyone  imagine  —  it  seems  as  if 
everyone  must  —  that  crowd  of  bright-haired  girls 
hovering  around  the  heroine  of  the  hour  —  their  pride 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  157 

and  queen  ?  Oh,  how  the  girlish  hearts  beat,  as  their 
eager,  loving  fingers  smoothed  a  fold  here,  and  fas- 
tened a  clasp  there !  If  Meg  shared  their  nervous- 
ness, she  never  showed  it,  except  it  was  a  brighter 
sparkle  in  the  dark  eyes,  and  a  firmer  setting  of  the 
full  lips. 

"Goodness !  "  exclaimed  Dell,  "you  are  the  color  of 
marble.  It  must  be  because  your  hair  is  brushed 
back  from  your  forehead." 

"She  looks  just  as  'Lady  Macbeth'  should  look," 
said  Laurie,  with  quick,  jealous  fondness.  "The 
whiter,  the  better." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Meg,"  said  May,  "you  look  sim- 
ply immense." 

"You  will  add  another  link  to  the  chain  you  have 
bound  about  poor  Will,  when  he  sees  you  in  that  cos- 
tume," said  Lill  Norton  sentimentally.  She  and 
Lulu  and  May  had  slipped  behind  the  "scenes,"  to 
see  if  they  could  help. 

"Don't  you  feel  nervous,  Meg?"  asked  Lulu. 

"Hurry  up,  Meg,"  commanded  Dell.  "And  you 
stop  your  nonsense,  girls.  Just  one  minute  of  grace 
for  the  '  Lady  Macbeth '  to  admire  herself  in  " ;  and 
she  led  "my  lady"  to  the  mirror. 

Meg  smiled  a  satisfied  smile  at  what  she  saw 
reflected  therefrom.  A  tall,  slender  form  robed  in 


158  MEGDA. 

heavy  brocaded  velvet  —  both  Meg's  and  Will's  cos- 
tumes were  hired.  The  petticoat  was  of  yellow 
quilted  satin.  The  overdress  and  court-train  were  of 
rich  dregs-of-wine  velvet,  brocaded.  Her  golden- 
brown  hair  was  rolled  back  from  her  forehead,  and 
the  head  covering  of  rich,  yellow  lace,  was  fastened 
to  her  braids  with  a  large  star  of  brilliants.  Broad 
bands  of  dead  gold  were  around  her  wrists  and  a 
necklace  of  brilliants  were  clasped  tightly  about  her 
throat.  Meg  was  not  beautiful  —  never  would  be  — 
but  in  that  costume  she  looked  like  a  queen.  No 
wonder  that  the  girls  held  their  breath  as  they  looked 
at  her. 

"All  ready,"  came  in  sepulchral  tones  from  behind 
the  drapery  that  took  the  place  of  a  door. 

"Wait  just  a  minute,  Meg,"  whispered  Lill.  "Let 
us  get  out  first,"  and  there  was  an  immediate  rush  for 
the  audience. 

The  appearance  of  the  girlish  "  costumers  "  was  a 
signal  for  all  whispering  and  laughing  to  stop.  A 
deep  stillness  settled  upon  the  room.  Then  the 
green  curtain  was  slowly  drawn  aside  and  a  very  well- 
furnished  drawing-room  met  the  eye.  At  the  left  of 
the  front  of  the  stage  was  a  writing-table,  and  a  stu- 
dent's chair  of  yellow  plush  was  drawn  up  beside  it. 
A  portiere  of  green  damask  separated  the  drawing- 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  159 

room  from  a  narrow  corridor,  and  as  the  people 
looked,  a  beautiful  form  came  slowly  from  behind  it. 
In  the  small,  white  hands  was  a  sheet  of  paper,  but 
the  queenly  head  was  slightly  thrown  back,  and  the 
large,  dark  eyes  rested  not  upon  the  paper,  but  were 
gazing  earnestly  ahead  with  an  anxious,  perplexed 
look  in  their  depths. 

Before  Meg  could  open  her  lips  to  speak  a  storm  of 
applause  burst  forth,  the  younger  part  of  the  com- 
pany even  stamped  with  their  feet  and  whistled.  It 
was  a  proud  moment  to  Meg,  but,  unfortunately,  as 
she  bent  her  head  in  silent  acknowledgment  of  their 
praise,  her  eyres  rested  full  upon  Mr.  Stanley.  He 
was  not  smiling,  but  on  the  contrary  a  look  of  stern 
displeasure  was  on  his  face.  For  just  a  second  Meg's 
heart  beat  quickly,  and  then  she  set  her  lips  firmly 
and  determinedly  together,  resolved  to  do  her  best. 

When  she  reached  the  center  of  the  stage,  she  com- 
menced to  read  from  the  paper  she  held  in  her  hands, 
and  at  the  first  words  every  sound  ceased.  People 
could  hardly  believe  that  that  ta!4,  queenly  woman 
before  them,  was  really  Meg  Randal ;  they  hardly 
recognized  her  voice  in  the  full,  rich  tones  in  which 
she  read  : 

"  They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success ;  and  I  have 
learned  by  the  perfected  report,  they  have  more  in 


160  MEGDA. 


them  than  mortal  knowledge.  When  I  burned  in 
desire  to  question  them  further,  they  made  themselves 
air  into  which  they  vanished.  While  I  stood  rapt  in 
the  wonder  of  it,  came  missives  from  the  king,  who 
all-hailed  me,  'Thane  of  Cawder';  by  which  title, 
before,  these  wierd  sisters  saluted  me,  and  referred 
me  to  the  coming  on  of  time  with,  'Hail,  king  that 
shalt  be ! '  This  have  I  thought  good  to  deliver  thee, 
my  dearest  partner  of  greatness,  that  thou  mightest 
not  lose  the  dues  of  rejoicing,  by  being  ignorant  of 
what  greatness  is  promised  thee.  Lay  it  to  thy  heart, 
and  farewell." 

The  parts  had  been  slightly  changed.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  the  reading  of  the  letter,  the  curtain  was 
drawn  together,  leaving  "  Lady  Macbeth "  leaning 
wearily  back  in  her  chair. 

The  next  scene  was  from  Act  II,  Scene  II.  When 
the  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  Meg  was  standing  in  the 
center  of  the  stage,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  hands 
clinched  tightly  by  her  side,  a  look  of  desperate  cour- 
age on  her  fair  face.  She  hurled  the  words  from  her, 
quickly  and  fiercely : 

"  That  which  hath  made  them  drunk,  hath  made  me  bold ; 
What  hath  quench' d  them,  hath  given  me  fire. 
Hark !     Peace ! 

It  was  the  owl  that  shrieked,  the  fatal  bellman, 
Which  gives  the  stern'st  good-night.     He  is  about  it : 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  161 

The  doors  are  open ;  and  the  surfeited  grooms 

Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores  :  I  have  drugged  their  possets, 

That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 

Whether  they  live  or  die." 

"Who's  there?     What,  ho!"  sounded  from  behind 
the  "  scenes." 
Meg  went  on : 

"  Alack,  I  am  afraid  they  have  awaked, 
And  'tis  not  done.     The  attempt  and  not  the  deed 
Confounds  us.     Hark  !     I  laid  their  daggers  ready ; 
He  could  not  miss  'em.     Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done  it." 

Meg's  expression  as  she  delivered  the  last  sentence, 
was  really  something  wonderful.  The  pleased  audi- 
ence were  interrupted  in  their  applauding  by  "  Mac- 
beth "  rushing  wildly  upon  the  stage. 

"  My  husband  ! "  exclaimed  Meg. 

Some  small  boys  on  the  front  seat  were  wicked 
enough  to  giggle  most  audibly  at  this,  and  Will,  for- 
getting himself  as  an  actor  for  a  moment,  turned 
around  and  glared  at  them  fiercely.  Meg  looked  as  if 
she  would  like  to  shake  him  —  she  did  pinch  him  slyly 
—  and  the  audience  laughed  unrestrainedly.  That 
was  the  only  unpleasant  thing  that  happened.  Will 
at  once  came  to  his  senses,  and  the  rest  of  his  part 
was  given  in  praiseworthy  style. 

When  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside  for  the  last  act, 


162  MEGDA. 


Meg,  so  far  from  showing  any  signs  of  fatigue, 
seemed  as  fresh  and  full  of  vigor  —  nay,  even  more 
so  than  she  was  at  the  first  —  and  Will,  seeming  to 
catch  some  of  her  spirit,  forgot  himself,  and  everyone 
else,  in  his  part.  Could  Booth  or  Barret  have  done 
more  ? 

As  the  curtain  was  drawn  together  for  the  last 
time,  the  audience  applauded  until  it  seemed  as  if  the 
walls  shook.  What  spirit  of  pride  and  mischief 
seized  Meg  as,  hearing  the  loud  calls  for  her  reap- 
pearance, she  turned  to  Will  with  blazing  eyes. 

"Lead  me  out  before  the  curtain,  Will,"  she  said 
imperiously. 

Will  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  surprise,  but 
her  brilliancy  overpowered  all  his  discretion  —  he 
would  have  done  anything  she  might  have  asked  him. 

He  took  her  hand  and  did  as  she  commanded. 
The  people  fairly  rose  out  of  their  seats.  Truly, 
Margaret  Mather  could  not  have  acted  her  part  bet- 
ter than  did  Meg.  As  she  bowed  low  for  the  second 
time,  retreating  as  she  did  so,  Dell  stepped  forward 
and  handed  her  a  magnificent  bouquet  of  roses  and 
pinks.  It  was  from  the  members  of  the  Y.  P.  L. 
S.  Meg  was  thoroughly  taken  by  surprise,  but  she 
accepted  it  with  a  bright  smile,  raised  it  daintily  to 
her  lips,  and  disappeared. 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  163 

But  Will,  holding  her  hand,  felt  the  small  fingers 
twitch.  Meg,  in  bowing,  had  looked  at  Mr.  Stanley 
again.  The  look  of  stern  displeasure  on  his  face  had 
deepened  into  one  of  sorrow  and  pain. 

"Oh,  Meg,  you  darling!"  The  bevy  of  fair  girls 
crowded  around  their  "queen"  and  almost  smothered 
her  with  caresses. 

"Mary  Anderson,  herself,  could  have  done  no 
better ! " 

"  You  were  simply  superb !  " 

"  I  never,  in  all  my  life,  saw  anyone  look  so  per- 
fectly lovely ! " 

"You  looked  just  like  a  queen  !  " 

"Judge  Lawton  almost  made  a  hole  in  the  floor 
thumping  with  his  gold-headed  cane.  " 

"Yes,  and  Deacon  Huntly  actually  cried  out 
'  Superb ! '  The  idea !  a  Deacon  of  the  church ! 
There's  a  conquest  for  you,  Meg." 

"Well,  Deacon  Norton  was  pretty  well  excited,  I 
noticed  ;  eh,  Lill  ?  " 

Meg  listened  to  all  these  rhapsodies  with  a  smiling 
face,  but  her  heart  felt  strangely  heavy.  She  did  not 
say  anything  until  Dell  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"Our  minister  looked  as  if  he  were  composing  his 
own  funeral  sermon  all  the  time.  He,  doubtless,  does 
not  appreciate  fine  acting." 


164  MEGDA. 


There  were  exclamations  of  dismay,  and  blank  faces 
at  this. 

"I  never  thought  to  look  at  him,"  said  May.  "I 
meant  to,  but  I  was  so  excited  all  the  time  that  I 
didn't  once  think  of  it." 

"Phooh!"  said  Lulu  Martin,  contemptuously.  "I'd 
like  to  know  what  harm  there  is  in  it." 

"  He'd  no  business  to  come  if  he  hadn't  approved  of 
it,"  said  Dell  dryly. 

"That's  what  I  say,"  said  Lill.  "What  think  you, 
Meg?" 

Meg  was  just  then  bending  her  head  for  Laurie, 
who  had  not  spoken,  to  unfasten  her  vail.  The  girls 
could  not  see  her  face,  but  they  were  satisfied  to  hear 
her  mocking  little  laugh.  "I  say  as  Dell  says,"  she 
replied,  and  then  commenced  to  talk  about  something 
else. 

When  Meg  reached  home,  she  received  Hal's  hearty 
congratulations,  Elsie's  loving  words  of  praise  and  the 
mother's  kiss,  with  the  same  smiling  face  with  which 
she  had  listened  to  the  girls,  and  with  the  same 
strangely-heavy  heart,  too ;  and  when  she  had  retired 
to  her  room,  she  blew  out  the  light  and  sank  down  in 
a  chair  by  the  window,  and  looked  out  at  the  white- 
robed  earth  shining  cold  and  silvery  under  the  rays  of 
the  moon. 


THE  ENTERTAINMENT.  165 

She  sat  there  a  long  time,  thinking.  Was  Ethel 
really  right  after  all  ?  Were  the  pleasures  of  the  world 
so  fleeting?  Did  it  require  something  higher  and 
nobler  to  satisfy  ?  A  few  weeks  ago,  and  she  would 
have  felt  perfectly  happy  and  satisfied  with  to-night's 
triumph  —  she  would  have  asked  for  no  greater  happi- 
ness;  but  now  she  felt  far  from  happy  —  almost  like 
crying.  "What  is  it?  oh,  what  is  it?"  she  cried, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands ;  but  no  answer 
came  to  her.  Then  she  jumped  from  her  chair,  turned 
down  the  bed-clothes  and  sprang  into  bed.  "  I  know 
what  it  will  be,  if  I  keep  on,"  she  said  to  herself  scorn- 
fully. "It  will  be  a  case  of  insanity.  I  act  worse 
than  any  of  the  love-sick  maidens,  sentimental  authors 
write  about  in  their  trashy,  five-penny  novels.  I  am 
disgusted  with  myself." 

And  Meg  cuddled  herself  down  among  her  soft  pil- 
lows, and  fell  asleep. 


166  MEGDA. 


XII. 

IN  SOCIETY. 

1HEAR  loud  praises  from  father  of  your  elocution- 
ary powers,  Girlie,"  said  Ethel,  on  the  morning 
after  the  entertainment. 

The  two  girls  were  in  the  senior's  parlor.  Meg 
was  sitting  on  the  rug  before  the  open  fire,  holding 
her  hands  over  the  blaze  to  get  them  warm.  It  was 
a  bitterly  cold  morning.  Ethel  was  sitting  in  an  easy 
chair  close  by  her  with  her  Physiology  in  her  hand. 

"Was  your  father  pleased,  then,  Ethel?"  asked 
Meg  carelessly. 

"More  than  pleased,"  replied  Ethel.  "He  talked 
about  nothing  at  the  breakfast  table,  but  your  '  won- 
derful talent.'  He  was  quite  carried  away.  Mother, 
too,  was  very  much  pleased." 

"I  shouldn't  think  you  would  tell  me  of  it,  Ethel," 
said  Meg,  looking  into  the  fire. 

"Why  not,  Girlie?" 

"Oh,  you  think  it  is  such  a  deadly  sin.     I  was 


IN  SOCIETY.  167 


much  surprised  to  see  your  father  and  mother  there. 
Of  course,  I  knew  they  had  always  been  theatre-going 
people,  but  I  supposed  you  had  converted  them  long 
before  this." 

Meg  did  not  say  this  rudely,  and  when  she  had  fin- 
ished, the  face  she  turned  to  Ethel  was  rather  grave 
than  otherwise.  A  shadow  fell  upon  Ethel's  fair 
face. 

"  No,  I  have  not  converted  them  to  the  only  true 
way  yet,  Girlie;  but  I  hope  to  do  so  before  many 
days,  with  God's  help." 

Meg  was  silent,  and  Ethel  went  on.  "  Mother 
does  not  care  as  much  for  such  things  as  she  used. 
She  is  commencing  to  realize  that  the  pleasures  the 
world  can  give  are  not  lasting ;  pleasant  they  may  be 
for  a  while,  but  not  worth  bartering  eternity  for,  and 
the  unending  happiness  that  eternity  will  bring." 

"But  these  things  are  not  wicked,"  said  Meg  in  a 
low,  determined  voice,  with  a  faint  pink  stealing  into 
her  face.  "  Nothing  will  ever  make  me  believe  that 
they  are.  They  are  only  little  harmless  amusements. 
Your  religion  is  too  severe,  Ethel ;  it  makes  moun- 
tains out  of  mole-hills.  Why  can  not  a  person  be  just 
as  good  —  enjoy  his  religion  just  as  much,  and  still 
enter  into  the  pleasures — the  social  pleasures  of  the 
world  ?  I  think  one  derives  many  personal  advant- 


168  MEGDA. 


ages  from  going  out  into  society.  That  is,  if  one 
looks  at  it  from  the  right  point  of  observation.  There 
is  a  certain  charm  about  society  people,  which  cannot 
be  explained.  They  possess  certain  qualities  which 
non-society  people  do  not  even  dream  of." 

"Is  it  your  ambition  then,  to  be  a  'society  woman/ 
Girlie?"  asked  Ethel,  leaning  forward  and  looking 
into  the  earnest  face. 

Meg  laughed  sarcastically.  "It  would  require 
money,  Ethel,  and  I  am  not  an  heiress." 

"No,  and  I  am,"  replied  Ethel  quietly;  then  she 
went  on  quickly:  "You  have  said  right,  Girlie;  it 
does  require  money  to  join  the  society  of  .worldly 
pleasure-seekers ;  as  soon  as  your  money  is  gone,  you 
can  no  longer  be  a  member.  It  is  an  expensive  soci- 
ety to  keep  up;  poor  people  are  not  allowed  to  join. 
It  is  a  society,  Girlie,  that  supports  its  own  rich,  but 
the  poor  need  not  apply  —  they  will  not  be  received. 
But  the  society  of  which  I  am  proud  to  be  a  member 
is  one  that  has  no  respect  of  persons ;  the  poor  as 
well  as  the  rich,  are  gladly  welcomed  to  it.  All  can 
come  without  money  and  without  price.  The  poorer, 
the  more  broken-down,  the  more  helpless  one  is,  the 
more  gladly  is  he  welcomed.  It  is  a  society,  the 
most  honored  members  of  which  are  those  who  have 
come  to  it,  soul-sick  and  weary  of  sin  and  strife,  and 


IN  SOCIETY.  169 


have  simply  cast  down  their  burden  at  the  feet  of 
the  great  Ruler,  and  asked  Him  to  take  them,  poor 
and  needy  as  they  are.  No  one  has  ever  been 
turned  away,  Girlie,  but  all  have  been  joyfully 
received." 

"What  is  the  pass-word,  Ethel?"  asked  Meg,  smil- 
ing, but  deeply  touched.  "Jell  me,  that  I  may  enter 
if  I  should  so  wish." 

"The  pass-word  is  Jesus." 

Meg  bowed  her  head  upon  Ethel's  knee,  and 
pressed  her  lips  to  the  fair  hand  she  held.  "Tell  me 
what  it  will  bring  me,  Ethel ;  what  it  has  brought  to 
you." 

"  Rest  and  perfect  peace,"  was  the  low-spoken 
answer. 

Light  feet  were  heard  tripping  up  the  stairs.  Meg 
rose  and  leaned  over  Ethel.  "  Pray  for  me,  Ethel," 
she  said,  tremulously,  then  she  crossed  the  room 
quickly,  took  up  her  algebra  which  she  had  tossed  on 
to  the  lounge  when  she  came  in,  and  when  the  door 
opened  and  Maude  Leonard  entered,  both  girls  were 
absorbed  in  their  books. 

"  Good-morning,  girls,"  said  Maude  in  her  sweetest 
voice.  "  What  a  dreadfully  cold  morning  it  is,  isn't 
it?" 

Meg  just  raised  her  eyes  from  her  book  and  nod- 


170  MEGDA. 


ded,  but  Ethel  wheeled  a  chair  close  to  the  burning 
logs,  and  said  pleasantly :  "  Yes,  indeed,  it  is  a  bit- 
terly cold  morning.  Did  you  drive  to  school?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Maude,  sinking  languidly  down  in 
the  depths  of  the  easy  chair,  and  drawing  her  fur- 
trimmed  skirts  daintily  away  from  the  blaze.  "  James 
put  an  extra  robe  in  the  sleigh,  but  I  was  dreadfully 
cold,  then." 

"Why  didn't  I  tell  James  to  put  an  extra  robe  in 
my  sleigh,"  thought  Meg,  with  grim  humor,  as  she  sat 
in  her  remote  corner,  apparently  absorbed  in  "signs 
and  quantities." 

"Come  over  here,  Girlie,"  said  Ethel. 

A  curt  "No,  I  thank  you,"  rose  to  Meg's  lips,  but, 
I  am  happy  to  say,  did  not  pass  them.  Instead,  she 
said :  "  I  think  I  will.  A  wood  fire  is  the  prettiest 
and  cosiest  thing,  but  it  suits  the  Spring  and  Autumn 
weather  better  than  the  Winter." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,"  said  Maude,  pushing  her 
chair  lazily  to  one  side  to  make  room  for  Meg ;  but 
Meg  preferred  to  sit  beside  Ethel.  Maude,  seeming 
not  to  notice  this,  went  on  : 

"You  two  girls  must  have  left  early  this  morning. 
I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  been  tired 
enough  to  sleep  an  hour  or  two  longer,  Meg.  Allow 
me  to  congratulate  you  on  your  success  of  last  even- 


IN  SOCIETY.  171 


ing.  You  have  a  most  wonderful  talent.  You  fairly 
took  your  audience  by  storm." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Meg,  coldly.  To  herself  she 
said  quite  savagely,  "  Hypocrite  !  " 

"  By  the  way,  Meg,  where  is  your  shadow  this  morn- 
ing?" asked  Maude  suddenly. 

Meg  looked  around  the  room  in  mock  surprise. 
She  knew  very  well  that  Maude  meant  Laurie;  she 
had  called  her  that  before,  with  the  same  veiled  sar- 
casm in  her  tones. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Meg  innocently,  bringing  her 
eyes  back  to  rest  upon  Maude's  face;  "but  you  can 
hardly  expect  to  see  it  in  this  room  so  early  in  the 
morning ;  you  know  the  sun  doesn't  get  around  here 
until  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon." 

Ethel  laughed  softly,  she  couldn't  help  it.  Maude 
laughed  too,  but  her  large,  black  eyes  glittered  angrily. 
She  formed  a  strong  contrast  to  Ethel  and  Meg,  with 
her  dark,  richly-colored  face ;  large,  black  eyes  and 
raven  hair.  It  made  Ethel's  delicate  loveliness  look 
almost  spiritual,  and  Meg's  white  face  look  whiter 
still,  and  her  light-brown  hair  almost  golden. 

"Last  night's  triumph  has  made  you  facetious," 
said  Maude  sweetly,  "or  else  you  do  not  really  under- 
stand. I  meant  Laurie.  Where  is  she?" 

"  She  went  to  the  library  after  a  book/' 


172  MEGDA. 


"Oh,"  said  Maude  indifferently;  then,  as  if  just 
recalling  it,  she  said :  "  Ethel,  how  very  kind  it  was 
of  you  this  morning,  to  send  your  carriage  for  Ruth 
Dean.  The  poor  girl  looks,  sometimes,  as  if  she  actu- 
ally suffered  with  the  cold.  She  has  a  long  walk." 

Meg  looked  at  Ethel  quickly  and  gratefully.  "  Did 
you  send  your  carriage  for  her,  Ethel  ? "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ethel,  blushing  a  lovely  pink. 
"But  that  was  nothing.  I  was  only  too  glad  to  be 
able  to  do  it." 

"It  was  exceedingly  good  of  you,"  murmured 
Maude.  "I  doubt  if  the  girl  ever  rode  in  a  sleigh 
before.  She  looked  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret 
among  all  the  buffalo  robes ;  all  you  could  see  was 
her  big  eyes,"  and  Maude  laughed  immoderately. 

Meg's  eyes  flashed  as  she  looked  at  her.  "If  it 
were  not  for  such  Christians  as  she,  there  would  be 
more  sinners  —  like  me  —  saved,"  she  thought. 

It  never  entered  Meg's  head  that  she  was  doing  a 
poor,  foolish  thing  in  judging  all  by  one,  or  taking 
the  wrong-doing  of  one  as  an  excuse  for  her  own 
"holding  back."  She  would  have  been  very  quick  to 
see  the  foolishness  in  Laurie  or  any  of  the  other  girls, 
and  would  have  felt  a  contempt  for  their  weakness, 
but  —  we  seldom  see  our  own  faults. 

"Hullo,  girls,"  cried  a  merry  voice,  and  May  Brom- 


IN  SOCIETY.  173 


ley  bounced  into  the  room.  "  How  cozy  you  look  in 
here.  I  declare,  I  am  well-nigh  frozen  —  all  but  my 
tongue. ;' 

"That  never  freezes,  does  it,  May?"  asked  Maude, 
in  her  pleasantest  tone. 

"No,"  answered  May,  not  the  least  displeased. 
"Once  in  a  while  it  becomes  paralyzed  —  that  is  all." 

"When  is  that?"  asked  Meg. 

"  Oh,  for  instance,  when  I  get  up  to  read  an  origi- 
nal paper  before  the  Y.  P.  L.  S.  But,  Queen  of  the 
Boards,  let  me  pay  my  heart-felt  homage  to  you  this 
morning,"  and  May  dropped  on  one  knee  before 
Meg,  raised  her  little  white  hand  to  her  lips,  and 
kissed  it. 

"What  nonsense  are  you  up  to  now? "  said  a  voice 
from  the  door-way.  "  You  ought  to  be  hired  out  to 
'Forepaugh'  as,  'a  girl  born  without  brains.'  Think 
I'll  present  the  idea  to  your  father  for  his  considera- 
tion, May ;  he  would  make  an  immense  sum  of 
money,"  and  Dell  walked  into  the  room,  looking,  for 
all  the  world,  like  one*  of  the  icicles  dressed  up  —  as 
Meg  said  to  herself  —  with  her  white  face  and  glitter- 
ing hair. 

"  Don't  be  insulting,  Miss  Manton,"  said  May, 
making  a  face  at  her.  "You  have  a  lovely  mouth, 
don't  make  it  ugly  by  saying  ugly  things." 


174  MEGDA. 


Dell  looked  at  her  with  cool  amusement.  "  What 
a  pity  it  is,  May-flower,"  she  said,  "that  you  don't 
realize  your  own  superior  smartness.  You  have  just 
delivered  a  whole  sermon  equal  to  the  divine  Tal- 
mage.  What  are  you  all  doing  in  here  —  holding  a 
conference  ? " 

"Warming  our  toes,"  said  Meg  dryly.  "I  wish  I 
could  warm  my  brains  as  well ;  they  seem  literally 
frozen  this  morning." 

"  Frost  gotten  into  them  ? "  asked  Dell,  leaning  on 
the  back  of  her  chair. 

"Yes,  the  frost  of  stupidity,"  answered  Meg.  "I 
can't  get  this  example  right  if  it  is  to  save  my 
life;  tried  half  an  hour  on  it  this  morning  before 
breakfast." 

"Is  there  room  for  me?"  asked  a  soft  little  voice, 
and  Laurie's  golden  head  poked  itself  around  the 
door. 

"Yes,  come  right  in,"  they  all  cried,  and  drew  a 
little  away  from  each  other  to  make  room  for  her. 

Laurie  seized  an  ottoman  on*  her  way  to  the  fire- 
place and  threw  it  at  Meg's  feet.  "Room  for  two, 
May,"  she  said,  gaily;  and  the  two  girls  seated  them- 
selves on  it,  and  leaned  their  elbows  lightly  on  Meg's 
lap.  Dell  sat  on  the  arm  of  Meg's  chair,  with  her 
hand  resting  lightly  on  her  shoulder.  Meg  was  in 


IN  SOCIETY.  175 


her  " natural  state"  now  —  that  of  the  queen  with  her 
subjects  around  her. 

"  Oh,  love,  dear  love,  be  true ; 
This  heart  is  only  thine." 

sung  a  voice  in  the  lower  hall. 

"  When  the  war  is  o'er 
We'll  part  no  more." 

chimed  in  another ;  then  a  rush  of  feet  up  the  stair- 
case, and  Lill  and  Lulu  burst  into  the  room. 

"  Still  receiving  homage,  our  Queen  ? "  said  Lill. 
"You  deserve  it." 

"If  you  don't  study  for  the  stage,  you  will  make 
the  one  grand  mistake  of  your  life,"  said  Lulu. 

"Amen,"  said  May. 

Meg  boxed  her  ears  lightly.  "No  irreverence, 
May-flower,"  she  said  carelessly,  but  she  did  not 
smile. 

"But  seriously,  Meg,"  said  Lill,  squeezing  herself 
in  between  the  ottoman  and  Maude's  chair,  "why  do 
you  not  study  for  the  stage?  Why!  everyone  says 
that  you  are  most  wonderfully  gifted,  and  that  you 
could  make  your  fortune  as  an  actress." 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Lulu.  "Father  says  he  has 
seen  most  of  the  leading  actresses  of  this  country, 


176  MEGDA. 


and  of  the  other  country,  too,  for  that  matter,  and  he 
prophesies  a  brilliant  future  for  you,  if  you  will  only 
undertake  it.  Why  don't  you,  Meg  ? " 

"Oh,  dear !  "  sighed  May.  "  What  a  grand  thing  it 
must  be  to  have  the  world  at  your  feet.  Just  think! 
your  simple  appearance  on  the  stage  to  be  the  signal 
for  a  mighty  burst  of  applause,  and  people  holding 
their  breath  and  waiting  impatiently  for  you  to  open 
your  lips  and  just  speak  one  word.  Oh,  it  must  be 
delightful ! " 

Meg  listened,  and  as  she  did,  her  breath  came 
quickly,  her  eyes  shone,  her  cheeks  flushed.  A  thrill 
went  through  the  girlish  heart ;  the  ambitious  part  of 
her  cried  out  in  loud  tones :  "  Yes,  that  is  the  life  for 
me.  There  is  happiness,  triumph,  power,  and,  there- 
fore, perfect  satisfaction." 

Then,  all  at  once,  her  eyes  fell  upon  Ethel.  The 
pure  face,  with  its  clear  eyes,  and  sweet,  smiling 
mouth,  seemed  a  reproach  to  her.  Her  own  eyes  fell 
beneath  the  calm,  reproachful  gaze  of  the  other's ;  the 
color  left  her  cheeks,  and  the  loud  beating  of  her 
heart  ceased,  and  grew  quiet.  The  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing made  her  cold  and  trembling;  nay,  it  actually 
frightened  her. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me  ? "  she  thought  wildly, 
and  the  next  moment  would  have  sprang  to  her  feet, 


IN  SOCIETY.  177 


but  just  then  the  door  quietly  opened,  and  a  little, 
dark  face  looked  in  to  be  quickly  withdrawn  with  a 
low  "Oh,  excuse  me,  please." 

Dell  slid  off  the  arm  of  Meg's  chair,  and  was  at  the 
door  before  it  could  be  closed. 

"Excuse  you,  Ruthie!"  she  cried.  "And  why? 
Are  you  not  a  senior,  the  same  as  the  rest  of  us,  and 
have  an  equal  right  to  the  parlor?  Come  in, 
immediately." 

She  drew  the  timid,  blushing  Ruth  into  the  room, 
and  closed  the  door.  Maude's  lip  curled  scornfully; 
the  others  looked  at  Meg  to  receive  their  "cue." 
Meg  put  out  both  arms,  and  drew  Ruth  down  on  her 
lap. 

"  Oh,  I  am  too  heavy,  Meg,"  remonstrated  Ruth. 

"Heavy!"  laughed  Meg.     "So  is  a  kitten." 

There  was  five  minutes  more  of  laughing  and  chat- 
tering, and  then  the  loud  tones  of  the  bell  broke  up 
the  pretty,  merry  group  and  sent  them  all  to  the  large 
hall  for  prayers. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  week,  Meg  received 
many  congratulations  on  her  success  of  Tuesday  even- 
ing. A  month  ago,  the  flattering  words  would  have 
filled  her  heart  with  delight ;  now,  they  only  made  her 
feel  restlessly  unhappy.  And  why?  Because  the 
workings  of  the  Spirit  were  already  going  on  in  her 


178  MEGDA. 


heart.  The  time  had  come,  as  Ethel  had  said  it 
would,  and  as  it  comes  to  all,  yet  it  was  coming  so 
gently  and  gradually  that  Meg  scarcely  realized  it. 
She  only  knew  that  there  was  something  she  wanted 
that  she  did  not  have ;  a  longing  for  something  that 
she  could  not  name.  It  did  not  change  her  much, 
only  made  her  a  little  more  thoughtful,  a  little  more 
subdued  in  her  manner. 

No  one  noticed  this  except  Ethel,  whose  gentle 
heart  was  filled  with  joy  and  thanksgiving,  as  she 
watched,  day  by  day,  the  change  that  was  gradually 
stealing  over  the  fair,  young  life. 

"Oh,  what  a  Christian  she  will  make!"  she 
thought,  and  felt  like  proclaiming  her  glad  knowledge 
from  the  house-tops. 

She  didn't,  though;  she  only  prayed  silently  and 
waited  patiently,  content  to  trust  to  the  Father, 
knowing  He  would  bring  all  things  to  pass  in  His 
own  good  time. 

Saturday  night  as  Meg  was  walking  home  from  the 
post-office,  she  met  Mr.  Stanley.  She  had  not  seen 
him  since  the  evening  of  the  entertainment,  and  then 
she  had  not  seen  him  to  speak  with. 

It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight  evening,  although  the 
air  was  sharp  and  frosty.  Meg  was  walking  quickly, 
her  furs  tied  closely  around  her  throat,  her  hands 


IN  SOCIETY.  179 


tucked  snugly  in  her  muff.  She  was  so  busy  with 
her  .thoughts,  that  she  did  not  observe  Mr.  Stanley 
until  he  lifted  his  hat  with  a  pleasant  "Good- 
evening." 

When  he  turned  and  walked  beside  her,  Meg  did 
not  know  whether  she  were  pleased  or  sorry ;  but  she 
did  think  nervously,  "Oh,  dear,  I  hope  he  will  not 
introduce  the  subject  of  religion." 

Mr.  Stanley  appeared  not  to  have  the  least  idea  of 
doing  so  when  he  started  out.  He  spoke  on  ordinary 
topics  —  her  school,  her  studies,  her  music,  and  lastly, 
her  elocution.  Meg  hardly  knew  how  it  came  about, 
but  all  at  once  she  found  herself  talking  freely  and 
eagerly  about  her  "hope",  as  she  had  always  called  it. 

"  The  ambition  of  my  life  has  always  been  to  be  a 
first-class  elocutionist ;  first-class,  of  course ;  I  could 
not  be  satisfied  with  anything  else.  And  why  should 
I  not  be  ? "  she  asked  with  lifted  head. 

"  I  see  no  reason,"  said  Mr.  Stanley,  quietly. 
"You  have  wonderful  powers." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Meg  a  little  mockingly.     "But 

-  but  how  gravely  you  speak ;  and  do  you  know,  Mr. 

Stanley,  you  are  the  only  one  of  my  friends  who  has 

not  congratulated  me  on  my  efforts  of  last  Tuesday 

evening  ? " 

Perhaps  Meg  ought  not  to  have  said  that,  she  was 


180  MEGDA. 


sorry  for  it  right  away.  It  sounded  bold  and  unmaid- 
enly  to  her,  and  she  knew  it  must  to  him  ;  as  if  she 
were  "fishing  for  compliments."  His  answer  took  her 
completely  by  surprise,  and  made  her  face  burn  hotly. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  your  fine  rendering  of  'The 
Polish  Boy'  and  'The  Widow's  Light';  they  were 
both  admirably  given ;  but  I  cannot  congratulate  you 
on  your  'theatrical  attempt'." 

Poor  Meg  was  dumb.  Figuratively  speaking,  she 
did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry.  She  felt  like 
turning  to  him  and  saying,  in  her  coldest,  iciest 
tones,  "You  insult  me,  Mr.  Stanley,"  and  then  leav- 
ing him  to  his  own  remorseful  thoughts  in  the  middle 
of  the  snow-covered  street ;  but  he  might  think  that 
she  was  indulging  in  "open-air  theatricals"  this  time, 
and  be  more  disgusted  than  ever ;  so  she  did  the  wis- 
est thing  —  said  nothing  and  walked  quietly  by  his 
side. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Stanley  thought  he  had  been  a  little 
too  abrupt,  and  had  hurt  the  proud  girl's  feelings  —  as, 
indeed,  he  had — for  he  went  on  to  say  in  a  moment 
or  two :  "  You  must  pardon  me,  if  what  I  say  is  not, 
perhaps,  what  you  would  like  to  have  me.  I  have 
always  considered  myself  quite  a  judge  of  character, 
Miss  Randal.  Will  you  allow  me  to  give  you  the 
result  of  my  observation  of  yours  ? " 


IN  SOCIETY.  181 


"Then  you  have  been  studying  it?"  asked  Meg 
with  quick  resentment. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  replied  he  calmly. 

Meg  almost  laughed  at  his  imperturbability,  though 
much  vexed.  "  You  have  aroused  my  curiosity,"  she 
said,  "pray,  be  so  kind  as  to  gratify  it,  now." 

"  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure.  You  are  a  girl  of  noble 
impulses,  although  you  do  not  always  follow  them. 
Your  character  is  made  up  of  contradictory  points. 
By  nature  you  are  trusting,  but  either  because  you 
have  come  in  contact  with  untruth  and  deception  in 
one  form  or  another,  or  because,  being  of  the  people 
of  the  world,  you  are  determined  to  do  as  the  people 
of  the  world  do,  you  are,  at  times,  suspicious  and  sar- 
castic. You  are  liable  to  scoff  at  the  wisdom  of  supe- 
rior minds ;  this  tendency  will  grow  upon  you,  unless 
you  check  it  at  once,  until  the  nature  that  God  made 
so  pure  and  trusting,  capable  of  noble  deeds  as  well 
as  impulses,  will  become  tarnished,  degenerated  and 
ruined.  You  have  great  decision  of  character  and 
strength  of  intellect.  You  have  little  patience  with 
your  weaker  sisters.  You  have  a  keen  perception; 
you  are  quick  to  see  the  faults  of  others,  but  are  most 
unnaturally  blind  to  your  own.  You  have  an  idea 
that  your  own  strength  of  character  is  sufficient  to 
keep  you  from  doing  any  weak  thing.  You  are  proud, 


182  MEGDA. 


you  have  lofty  ideas  of  right,  you  have  little  compas- 
sion for  wrong-doers,  little  realizing,  that,  in  your 
righteous  (?)  condemnation  of  them,  you  are  yourself 
committing  a  great  wrong.  You  have  a  lovable 
nature,  you  can  make  many  friends,  and,  what  is  still 
a  harder  thing  to  do,  you  can  keep  them.  You  receive 
their  friendship  and  recognition  of  your  superiority, 
much  as  a  queen  receives  the  homage  of  her  subjects. 
All  the  time  you  are  smiling  at  their  simplicity,  and 
feeling  miles  above  them ;  seated  on  a  throne,  as  it 
were,  and  looking  down,  with  smiling  pity,  upon  the 
'smaller  minds.'  And  yet),  the  time  will  come,  Miss 
Randal,  when  their  strength  will  be  your  weakness. 
Your  friend,  Miss  Ray,  for  instance.  You  look  upon 
her  now,  very  much  as  you  would  look  upon  a  pretty, 
little  pet  kitten ;  you  are  fond  of  her,  but,  in  your 
heart,  you  laugh  at  her ;  at  times  you  even  pity  her 
for  her  lack  of  moral  courage.  She  will  one  day,  it 
may  be  near  at  hand  even  now,  pity  you  for  your  lack 
of  the  same  quality.  You  have  talents ;  some  day 
God  will  ask  you  to  give  an  account  of  them.  When 
a  person  is  rich,  we  expect  more  from  him,  where 
money  is  concerned,  than  we  do  from  a  poor  person. 
It  is  just  so  with  God.  He  does  not  bestow  His  gifts 
upon  all  His  children  alike.  To  one  He  gives  but 
one  talent;  to  another  two;  to  another  three;  to 


IN  SOCIETY.  183 


those  He  gives  the  most,  He  expects  the  most 
from." 

They  had  reached  Meg's  home  by  this  time.  As 
Mr.  Stanley  opened  the  gate  for  her  to  pass  through, 
he  looked  into  her  face.  It  was  very  pale,  and  the 
lips  were  pressed  closely  together.  She  did  not  say 
one  word  ^  she  could  not,  if  her  life  had  depended  on 
it.  Her  heart  felt  ready  to  burst ;  it  was  filled  with  a 
deep,  passionate  anger.  Never  had  she  been  talked 
to  in  this  manner  before.  She  felt  mortified,  hum- 
bled in  the  very  dust.  Mr.  Stanley  saw  this. 

"  I  have  spoken  very  plainly  to  you,  Miss  Randal, 
but  I  have  done  it  with  the  very  best  of  intentions, 
believe  me.  One  thing  more  I  want  to  say,  and  it  is 
this.  You  are  capable  of  great  things ;  you  have  rare 
accomplishments ;  it  is  in  your  power  to  do  a  grand 
work.  All  you  have  to  do  is  'to  make  yourself 
worthy  of  yourself.'  You  can  do  this  in  only  one 
way.  Give  yourself,  just  as  you  are,  to  the  Saviour. 
Do  not  try  to  make  yourself  better  by  your  own 
strength  —  you  cannot  do  it.  Take  the  accomplish- 
ments He  has  given  you  and  consecrate  them  and 
yourself  all  to  His  glory,  and  your  life  will  be  one  of 
God's  most  perfect  creations." 

He  lifted  his  hat,  Meg  bowed  her  head  —  she  could 
not  speak  —  turned  and  ran  into  the  house. 


184  MEGDA. 


She  went  directly  to  her  room,  threw  herself  on  the 
bed,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  And 
when  had  light-hearted  Meg  shed  tears  before  ?  Not 
for  many  a  long  day.  She  could  hardly  tell  what  she 
was  crying  for,  either.  At  first  she  thought  it  was 
because  she  was  so  angry ;  then,  because  her  feelings 
had  been  so  deeply  hurt ;  then,  because  what  he  had 
said  had  startled  and  dismayed  her;  and  lastly,  she 
knew  it  was  because  she  realized  how  sinful  she  really 
was,  how  thoughtless  and  wicked  she  had  been. 

"  Oh,  why  could  he  not  have  left  me  alone  ? "  she 
sobbed.  "  I  was  happy,  I  was  contented,  and  I  never 
shall  be  so  again." 

Ah,  Meg,  if  you  had  only  said  then,  "  God  be  mer- 
ciful to  me,  a  sinner,"  the  "peace  that  passeth  all 
understanding"  would  surely  have  been  yours. 


THE  SENIOR    CLASS.  185 


XIII. 

THE  SENIOR   CLASS. 

IT  would  seem  as  if  the  members  of  the  senior  class 
of  Madam  de  Crando's  excellent  establishment, 
had  met  by  special  appointment  in  the  reading-room 
of  the  public  library,  had  not  each  one,  as  she  came 
in  and  saw  the  others  sitting  there,  cried  out  in  a 
burst  of  pleased  surprise,  "What!  you  here?"  At 
last  nearly  all  the  class  were  there,  sitting  around  one 
of  the  long  reading-tables  covered  with  views  and 
periodicals.  Meg,  Laurie,  Dell,  May,  Lulu  and  Lill. 
Each  one  had  chosen  her  book  for  the  ensuing  week, 
and  settled  herself  cosily  for  a  "good  look"  at  it. 

"Madam's  establishment  is  well  represented,"  said 
Meg. 

"Yes,"  replied  Lill;  "all  of  the  senior  class  here 
but  three  —  Ethel,  Maude  and  Ruth." 

"Wonder  where  they  are,"  observed  Meg  absently. 
She  had  just  made  up  her  mind  to  begin  "Martin 
Chuzzlewit" ;  it  was  so  thick  she  would  not  be  able  to 


186  MEGDA. 


finish  it  before  the  next  week  if  she  didn't.  Meg  was 
an  ardent  admirer  of  Dickens. 

"Tuesday  night,  isn't  it?"  asked  May. 

"Of  course,  goose,"  laughed  Lill,  looking  up  from 
"Pink  and  White  Tyranny." 

"Then  of  course,  also,  they  are  at  the  'Young  Peo- 
ple's Christian  Endeavor'." 

Down  went  all  the  books  on  the  table,  with  the 
exception  of  Meg's ;  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
smiling  at  the  others'  astonishment. 

"Well,  if  I  hadn't  forgotten  all  about  it,"  said  Lill. 
"And  it  was  given  out  at  both  services  on  Sunday, 
too." 

"Meg  doesn't  look  surprised,"  said  May. 

"Had  you  thought  of  it,  Meg?"  asked  Dell. 

"Yes;  Elsie  was  getting  ready  to  go  when  I  left 
home." 

"  Ethel  is  going  to  lead,"  said  Laurie  musingly. 

"Of  course,"  said  Meg  a  little  sharply.  "She  is 
the  one  who  organized  it." 

"I  wouldn't  care  to  be  in  her  shoes,"  said  May, 
with  a  shrug. 

"Here  comes  Ruth;  I  suppose  she  is  going. 
Good-evening,  Ruth." 

"Good-evening,  girls." 

"Are  you  going  to  Ethel's  meeting?"  asked  Lill. 


THE  SENIOR    CLASS.  187 

"Yes;  won't  you  all  come  with  me?" 

There  was  a  pause.     All  looked  eagerly  at  Meg  — 
Laurie  more  eagerly  than  the  rest. 

"Will  you  come,  Meg?"  asked  Ruth  softly. 

"No,  I  think  not,"  replied  Meg  slowly,  with  her 
eyes  on  her  book.  To  herself  she  said,  "I  would,  if 
that  hypocrite  wasn't  to  be  there ;  she  would  spoil  the 
meeting  for  me." 

The  girls  drew  back,  disappointed ;  yet  they  did 
not  once  think  they  could  go  without  their  "leader." 

"Here  come  Will  Duncan  and  Ed  Holmes,"  whis- 
pered Lulu.  "  Let's  ask  them  if  they  are  going." 

"Will  looks  solemn  enough  to  be  going  to  some 
kind  of  a  meeting,"  said  Dell. 

The  young  men  approached  the  table  where  the 
girls  were  sitting.  "Good-evening,  ladies.  Any- 
thing special  going  on  this  evening,  and  have  you 
taken  the  reading-room  for-  your  rendezvous  ? "  said 
Ed,  with  an  admiring  glance  at  Dell,  who  returned  it 
with  the  coolest  smile  imaginable. 

Will  had  bowed  gravely  to  all,  and  seated  himself 
beside  Meg. 

"We  didn't  meet  for  anything  special,"  explained 
Dell.  "We  were  talking  over  the  advisability  of 
attending  'Ethel's  meeting'  in  a  body." 

"And  have  you  decided  to  go?" 


188  MEGDA. 


"Meg  thinks  not." 

There  was  a  little  pause;  then  Ed  said  suddenly, 
"Why  not  all  go?" 

Meg  laughed.  "People  would  think  Bedlam  had 
broken  loose,  or  madam's  establishment,  at  any  rate." 

Ruth  had  risen  to  leave  the  room,  but  at  Ed's  words 
had  stood  still  again,  trembling  and  blushing.  "  I  am 
going,"  she  said;  "I  wish  you  would  come." 

"Well,  don't  wait  for  us,  Ruthie,"  said  Dell  kindly. 
"You  will  be  late.  Perhaps  we  will  decide  to  come." 

"Oh,  I  hope  so,"  replied  Ruth,  and  with  a  last  wist- 
ful, beseeching  look  at  Meg,  passed  out. 

"Where  is  Hal  to-night?"  asked  Will,  turning  to 
Meg. 

"I  left  him  at  home,  deep  in  the  mysteries  of 
stenography." 

"Are  they  going  to  introduce  it  into  his  office?" 

"Yes." 

"Does  he  like  it?" 

"Very  much." 

"Seen  anything  of  Pierce  or  Marston  to-night?" 
asked  Ed. 

The  girls  shook  their  heads. 

"Here  comes  Blanding,"  said  Will.  "Good-even- 
ing, Ray,"  he  said  to  that  young  gentleman,  as  he 
sauntered  up  to  the  table. 


THE  SENIOR    CLASS.  189 

Just  then  Will,  happening  to  look  toward  the  win- 
dow at  the  further  end  of  the  room,  saw  a  face  pressed 
against  the  glass.  "There  is  Bert  now,"  he  said,  and 
beckoned  with  his  hand  for  him  to  come  in. 

The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  in  a  moment  there 
was  a  low  hum  of  voices  around  the  table,  all  talking 
together,  with  now  and  then  a  subdued  burst  of  laugh- 
ter. Fifteen  minutes  passed ;  the  hands  of  the  clock 
pointed  to  a  quarter  to  eight.  In  the  midst  of  an  ani- 
mated discussion  between  the  young  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen as  to  the  rights  of  woman  being  equal  with 
those  of  man,  the  door  opened  and  Hal  came  hurrying 
in. 

He  bowed  to  all  at  once,  then  said,  eagerly,  "  I  was 
on  my  way  to  the  meeting,  and  happened  to  look  in 
here  as  I  passed  and  saw  you  all,  and  thought  I  would 
stop  and  ask  you  to  go  with  me.  Will  you  come?" 

"My  faith!"  said  Ray,  tragically.  "But  there  are 
so  many  of  us." 

"Never  mind  that,"  replied  Hal.  "The  more,  the 
better.  Come,  Meg." 

Meg  rose  with  a  little  laugh.  She  had  caught  the 
look  in  her  brother's  eye  and  obeyed  it.  "Well,  we 
might  as  well,  girls ;  but  we  shall  be  late." 

"Not  so  very,"  said  Hal.  "It  isn't  two  minutes 
walk  to  the  church,  and  ten  minutes  isn't  so  very  bad." 


190  MEGDA. 


"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Bert.  "Let's  count  heads 
just  for  the  fun  of  it.  By  Jove!  there  are  eleven  of 
us.  Now  if  Melvin  were  only  here  we  would  have 
the  whole  clique." 

"The  idea  of  Melvin  going  to  a  prayer-meeting," 
said  May  with  a  little  laugh.  "He  couldn't  keep 
still  long  enough." 

"He  would  have  time  to  think  up  a  dozen  new 
puns  for  our  meeting  night,"  said  Ray.  "What  a 
fellow  he  is  for  puns." 

"Yes,  I  don't  believe  he  is  capable  of  one  serious 
thought,"  said  Will  severely.  "A  regular  rattle- 
brain." 

"  He  has  one  of  the  kindest  hearts  that  ever  beat," 
flashed  out  Meg;  then  the  gay  party  passed  out  of 
the  door,  and  hurried  to  the  place  of  "Ethel's 
meeting." 

They  entered  the  vestibule  quietly,  and  stole  on 
tip-toe  to  the  half-open  door.  A  low,  sweet  voice  — 
Ethel's  voice  in  prayer  —  fell  on  their  ears.  With 
one  quick  glance  into  each  others'  faces,  they  silently 
bowed  their  heads.  Meg's  heart  beat  loud  and  quick 
—  every  word  that  Ethel  prayed  seemed  meant  for 
her. 

"My  Father,  bless  and  take  care  of  every  one 
of  Thy  children  —  Thine  absent  children  —  to-night. 


THE  SENIOR    CLASS.  191 

Watch  over  them  and  lead  their  straying  feet  into  the 
path  that  leads  to  Thee  and  Heaven,"  prayed  the 
sweet  young  voice,  and  every  heart  in  the  listening 
group  at  the  door  was  touched. 

At  the  close  of  the  prayer,  the  hymn,  "  I  Hear  Thy 
Welcome  Voice"  was  given  out,  and  during  the  sing- 
ing of  the  first  line,  our  young  people  walked  quietly 
into  the  room  and  took  seats  together. 

At  the  sound  of  so  many  feet,  all  heads  were 
turned,  and  looks  of  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  pleas- 
ure, appeared  on  every  face.  Ethel's  delicate  face 
was  fairly  radiant.  In  the  singing  of  the  second 
verse  their  voices  rang  out,  clear  and  full.  The 
sound  sent  a  thrill  through  every  heart  gathered 
there,  and  tears  filled  the  eyes  of  the  older  people. 

"  I  am  coming,  Lord, 
Coming  now  to  thee  ; 
Wash  me,  cleanse  me  in  the  blood, 
That  flow'd  on  Calvary." 

Meg's  glorious  soprano,  Dell's  rich  alto,  Ed's 
clear  tenor  and  Will's  deep  bass — oh,  how  grand  it 
sounded ! "  Mr.  Stanley,  in  his  chair  beside  Ethel, 
bowed  his  head  upon  his  hand  and  listened. 

" Shall  we  unite  in  prayer  with  our  pastor?"  said 
Ethel. 

It  seemed  to  Meg  as  if  she  had  never  listened  to 


192  MEGDA. 


such  a  prayer  in  her  life,  as  the  one  that  Mr.  Stanley 
offered.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  caught  inspiration 
from  the  glorious  singing  of  a  moment  before.  His 
face  was  fairly  quivering  with  emotion,  and  his  voice 
was  full  of  deep,  solemn  feeling.  Meg's  whole  mind 
was  on  the  prayer,  when  all  at  once  she  received  a 
sharp  nudge  from  May,  who  was  sitting  beside  her. 
She  raised  her  head  impatiently. 

May  was  looking  down  into  her  lap,  but  she  turned 
her  eyes  slowly  toward  the  left,  and  Meg  followed 
their  glance  with  her  own.  What  she  saw  caused  her 
to  give  a  little  start.  What  was  it,  or  who  was  it  ? 
Only  Melvin  Pierce,  with  his  head  bowed  down  on 
his  hands  and  deep  reverence  expressed  in  every  line 
of  his  figure.  Meg  could  not  help  saying  to  herself, 
"Of  all  astonishing  things,  this  takes  the  lead  !  " 

After  the  prayer,  Ethel  said,  in  a  few  simple  words, 
that  the  meeting  was  open  to  all ;  all  were  invited  to 
take  part  by  speaking,  singing  or  praying.  After 
this  the  customary  silence  reigned  for  a  moment  or 
two,  then,  to  the  unbounded  astonishment  of  our 
young  people,  Melvin  Pierce  rose  to  his  feet  and  said, 
clearly  and  firmly : 

"  I  want  to  serve  the  Master.  I  want  to  begin  to 
lead  a  truer,  better  and  nobler  life.  Will  you  pray 
forme?" 


THE  SENIOR    CLASS.  193 

"We  will  pray  for  you,  earnestly  and  gladly,"  said 
Ethel,  her  voice  quivering  with  happiness  ;  then  she 
commenced  to  sing,  " Jesus,  Lover  of  my  Soul." 
The  rest  joined  her  on  the  second  line,  and  the  grand 
old  hymn  seemed  to  draw  each  one  nearer  to  the  feet 
of  their  Lord. 

Meg  heard  a  soft  little  sob,  and  almost  before  she 
could  turn  her  head,  Laurie  was  standing  in  her  seat, 
her  pretty,  flower-like  face  quite  white,  and  the  tears 
standing  thickly  in  her  blue  eyes.  How  the  soft 
voice  shook  and  trembled,  as  if  her  heart  were  in  her 
mouth,  but  for  all  that,  it  did  not  falter. 

"I  love  my  Saviour,  and  I  give  myself  to  Him  now, 
to  do  with  as  He  will.  I  can  trust  Him  —  I  do  trust 
Him — for  I  know  He  doeth  all  things  well;  but  oh, 
pray  for  me,  that  I  may  not  wander  from  Him,  but 
keep  close  to  Him  all  the  time." 

Someone  commenced  softly,  "Nearer,  my  God,  to 
Thee ; "  the  rest  took  it  up,  and  in  a  second  the  room 
was  filled  with  the  divine  melody.  As  the  last  word 
died  on  the  stillness,  an  old,  white-haired  man  arose. 
His  face  was  shining  with  a  joy  unspeakable  —  his 
right  hand  was  raised  to  Heaven. 

"  I  thank  God  for  this  supreme  hour  of  my  life,"  he 
said,  in  trembling  accents.  "  My  prayer  has  been 
answered ;  the  one  desire  of  my  heart  has  been 


194  MEGDA. 


granted.  Rejoice  with  me.  My  little  lamb  has  at 
last  entered  the  fold.  Glory  be  to  God."  It  was 
Laurie's  father,  Deacon  Ray. 

Meg  thought  she  was  dreaming  when  she  heard 
Dell's  rich  contralto  voice  begin,  "There  were  ninety 
and  nine  that  safely  lay."  She  tried  to  join  in 
with  her,  but  the  tears  came  and  choked  her  voice. 
She  swallowed  hard,  angry  with  herself  for  being  "so 
foolish,"  as  she  called  it.  Her  heart  was  filled  with  a 
great  longing;  all  the  restless,  dissatisfied  feelings 
that  had  been  gradually  taking  possession  of  it,  rose 
in  full  force  and  fairly  overflowed  it.  She  felt  cold, 
nervous  and  frightened;  and  still,  strangely  happy. 
All  the  time  that  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "Oh,  why 
did  I  come  \  I  never  will  be  so  foolish  again,"  she 
was  still  glad  she  was  there. 

Testimony  followed  testimony  fast  now,  and  Meg 
was  scarcely  surprised  when  she  saw  Elsie  rise  in  her 
seat  and  heard  her  give  herself  to  the  Saviour ;  ready 
and  willing  to  consecrate  her  life  to  His  service.  If 
Dell  had  gotten  up  and  expressed  a  desire  to  become 
a  Christian,  it  would  not  have  surprised  Meg.  She 
was  almost  feeling  as  if  she  would  like  to  do  it  herself, 
when  Maude  Leonard  rose  and  testified  for  the  Mas- 
ter. She  said  she  was  trying  with  all  her  heart  to 
become  more  worthy  of  His  love,  and  she  desired  an 


THE  SENIOR    CLASS.  195 

interest  in  all  their  prayers  that  she  might  prove  more 
faithful. 

Not  one  change  of  expression  that  had  passed  over 
Meg's  face  during  the  evening,  had  escaped  Ethel's 
watchful  eye,  and  now  when  she  saw  the  soft  look  die 
away,  and  a  hard,  scornful  one  come  in  its  place,  she 
felt  like  falling  on  her  knees  and  crying,  "Oh,  Jesus, 
press  Thy  finger  upon  her  heart  and  blot  out  all  angry 
feelings,  and  fill  it  full  of  Thy  powerful  love  and 
mercy." 

The  evening  was  spoiled  for  Meg.  There  was  no 
music  in  the  singing  after  that ;  nothing  that  was  said 
touched  her  heart,  not  even  Ruth's  pathetic  little 
prayer  when  she  spoke  of  herself  as  being  "the  vilest 
of  those  who  love  Him,  and  the  weakest  of  those  who 
pray."  "And  she  is  as  far  above  that  hypocrite  as  the 
heavens  are  above  the  earth,"  thought  Meg  bitterly. 

At  the  end  of  the  meeting,  Ethel  asked  those  who 
wished  to  be  prayed  for,  to  stand.  Hal  was  the  first 
one  to  rise.  Laurie  gave  a  fleeting  little  glance  at 
Meg,  but  Meg  looked  proudly,  scornfully  back  at  her. 
Laurie  hesitated,  then  rose  to  her  feet.  Melvin  stood 
up,  then  Will,  then  Lill  and  Lulu.  May  kept  her 
eyes  on  Meg's  face,  and  remained  seated.  Dell  did 
not  rise  because  she  did  not  truly  feel  as  if  she 
wanted  to,  and  Ed,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  did  not  rise 


196  MEGDA. 


because  Dell  didn't.  "No  hypocrite  there,"  thought 
Meg,  looking  admiringly  at  Dell's  perfect  face.  She 
would  not  trust  herself  to  meet  Ethel's  wistful  look. 
Was  she  growing  cowardly  ? 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Stanley  had  pronounced  the  bene- 
diction, Ethel  went  to  Meg,  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
her.  Meg  took  it.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  here, 
Girlie,"  said  Ethel,  and  then  she  turned  to  Laurie, 
took  both  her  hands  in  hers,  and  kissed  her.  "Wel- 
come to  the  fold,  Laurie,"  she  said. 

Meg  felt  a  jealous  pang  shoot  through  her  heart  — 
the  first  she  had  ever  known.  She  turned  away  as 
Ethel  passed  on  to  the  others,  and  came  face  to  face 
with  Mr.  Stanley.  He  saw  the  trouble  in  her  face, 
and  Meg  knew  he  saw  it  and  understood  it,  and  the 
knowledge  made  her  ashamed ;  it  touched  her  pride. 
She  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  bowed  coldly  and 
passed  out  into  the  aisle  to  speak  with  Elsie.  Mr. 
Stanley  did  not  feel  hurt;  he  fully  understood  the 
proud  girl  —  understood  her  better  than  she  did 
herself. 


A  NEW  HAPPINESS.  197 


XIV. 

A   NEW  HAPPINESS. 

MEG,  you  will  go  to  meeting  to-night,  will  you 
not?"  asked  Laurie,  one  week  later. 

Meg  shut  up  her  Ancient  History  with  a  snap. 
"No,  I  am  not  going." 

"Oh,  Meg,  why  not?" 

"Because  I  do  not  care  to  go." 

If  Meg  had  spoken  the  exact  truth,  she  would  have 
said,  "Because  I  do  not  dare  to  go." 

Laurie  crept  closer  to  her.  Meg  was  sitting  in  the 
wide  window-sill  in  the  upper  hall,  trying  to  study. 

"Meg,"  said  Laurie,  with  a  trembling  voice,  "I 
must  tell  you  how  happy  I  have  been  this  week.  I 
feel  so  peaceful,  so  restful.  You  know  I  have  always 
been  happy,  and  I  know  that  you  have ;  both  of  our 
lives  have  been  particularly  bright ;  but  the  old  hap- 
piness is  entirely  different  from  this  new.  Then  I 
was  what  I  might  call  restlessly  happy,  and*  now  I  am 
restf ully  happy.  And,  oh,  the  difference,  Meg !  As 


198  MEGDA. 


much  difference  as  there  is  between  the  flickering, 
dazzling  gaslight,  and  the  clear,  bright,  pure  daylight. 
Then  every  little  disappointment,  no  matter  how  triv- 
ial it  was,  troubled  me  and  made  me  impatient ;  but 
now  —  Meg,  I  feel  that  no  matter  what  comes  to  me, 
I  shall  be  able  to  bear  it  patiently,  knowing  that  it  is 
His  hand  that  chasteneth,  and  He  only  chasteneth 
whom  He  loveth." 

.  Could  this  be  little  timid  Laurie  that  was  talking  ? 
Meg  looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  feeling  that  she 
should  never  call  her  "kitten"  again.  But  what  was 
she  saying?  Did  she  really  know  of  what  she  was 
talking  ?  She  had  never  known  trouble  of  any  kind 
—  she  had  always  had  everything  she  wanted  —  why 
could  she  not  have  been  satisfied  as  she  (Meg)  was 
with  what  she  had  ?  She  must  have  expressed  her 
thoughts  very  plainly  on  her  face,  for  Laurie  said : 

"  I  know  that  I  have  never  known  any  real  trouble, 
Meg,  but  when  I  have  to  face  it  some  day,  as  I  know 
I  shall  —  for  we  all  do  —  I  want  some  one  to  help  me 
meet  it  and  bear  it,  and  Jesus  is  the  only  one  who  can 
do  it."  Laurie  stopped  and  looked  wistfully  at  Meg. 
"If  you  would  only  take  Him  for  your  Saviour,  Meg," 
she  said  timidly. 

Meg  looked  out  of  the  window  and  shook  her  head 
slowly.  "Not  now,  Laurie;  I  am  not  worthy." 


A  NEW  HAPPINESS.  199 

Laurie  threw  both  arms  around  Meg  with  a  low  cry 
of  joy.  The  answer  had  been  so  different  from  what 
she  had  expected.  "But  it  is  just  the  unworthy  ones 
that  He  wants  to  come  to  Him,  Meg.  Don't  you 
know  He  says,  'I  came  not  to  call  the  righteous,  but 
sinners  to  repentance '  ?  Why,  Meg,  if  you  really  feel 
that  you  are  not  worthy,  that  is  just  what  He  wants 
of  you.  Just  come  to  Him  in  all  of  your  unworthi- 
ness,  and  ask  Him  to  forgive  you  your  sins,  and  help 
you  to  be  purer  and  better,  and  He  will  be  so  glad  to 
do  it.  And  oh,  Meg,  you  would  make  such  a  grand 
Christian ! " 

Unselfish  Laurie !  Her  pride  in  Meg  would  show 
itself  in  one  way  or  another.  It  touched  Meg  more 
than  anything  she  could  have  said.  She  kissed  the 
eager,  loving,  little  face  and  said : 

"The  idea  of  my  kitten  preaching  to  me!  Run 
away  now,  dear;  some  day,  perhaps,  I  may  think  of 
it,  but  just  now,  Ancient  History  must  be  attended 
to." 

She  opened  her  book  again  with  a  smile,  and  com- 
menced to  read,  but  after  Laurie  had  left  her,  she 
stopped  reading;  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand,  and 
looked  gravely  out  of  the  window.  Lill  and  Lulu 
came  up  the  stairs,  singing  softly,  "I've  found  a 
Friend,  oh,  such  a  Friend."  They  did  not  see  the 


200  MEGDA. 


bowed  form  in  the  window,  and  went  right  on  to  the 
seniors'  parlor,  where  Laurie  and  Ruth  were,  and  in  a 
moment  Meg  heard  them  talking  together. 

"They  are  all  leaving  me,"  she  thought,  and  the 
tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  "They  seem  so  happy;  oh, 
if  I  only  could !  But  I  can't,  and  I'll  not  say  and  do 
things  I  don't  mean.  Lill  and  Lulu,  too ;  the  change 
has  come  to  them." 

And,  indeed,  it  had.  They  went  through  the  halls 
and  up  the  stairs  now,  singing  as  in  former  days,  only 
now  it  was  some  hymn,  instead  of  a  light  love-ballad. 
Their  faces  wore  a  more  thoughtful  look,  and  it  had 
only  been  one  short  week. 

Meg  listened  to  the  low  hum  of  voices  until  she 
could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  left  her  seat,  and  stole 
softly  to  the  half-open  door. 

"Girls,  I  believe  there  is  only  one  thing  that  keeps 
me  from  being  perfectly  happy,"  Lill  was  saying. 

"  What  is  that  ? "  asked  Laurie. 

"Meg  is  not  with  us." 

There  was  a  short  pause.  Meg  held  her  breath 
and  listened. 

"  Let  us  all  kneel  right  down  and  pray  for  her," 
said  Ruth.  "Each  one." 

How  do  you  think  Meg  felt,  when  she  heard  her 
class-mates,  one  by  one,  praying  for  her?  "Our  pre- 


A   NEW  HAPPINESS.  201 

cious  sister,"  they  called  her.  She  felt  like  rushing 
into  the  room,  throwing  herself  on  her  knees,  and 
praying  for  herself  with  all  her  heart,  but  she  didn't. 
"It  is  only  because  I  am  excited,"  she  thought.  "I 
must  be  sure  of  myself.  I  should  be  sorry  for  it  the 
next  minute,  and  then  be  ashamed  and  make  others 
ashamed  of  me."  She  wiped  the  fast  falling  tears 
away,  and  went  softly  back  to  her  place  in  the  win- 
dow-seat, and  when  Ethel  came  up  a  few  moments 
later,  she  was  helping  "  King  Alfred  drive  the  Danes 
out  of  England." 

"All  alone,  Girlie?"  asked  Ethel,  pausing  beside 
her.  "You  look  lonely  out  here.  Isn't  the  *  study' 
more  enticing?" 

The  girls  sometimes  called  the  "senior's  parlor" 
the  "study." 

"No.  Solitude  is  the  thing  I  crave,"  answered 
Meg,  with  a  smile. 

"  Is  that  a  hint  for  me  to  leave  you  to  solitude  ? 
Well,  I  will  in  just  a  few  moments.  Girlie,  will  you 
come  to  the  meeting  to-night  ?" 

"Just  what  Laurie  has  been  coaxing  me  to  do." 

"  And  you  yielded  to  her  entreaties,  I  hope  ? " 

"No." 

"Oh,  Girlie,  why  not?" 

Meg  must  have  been  very  tired,  or  very  troubled. 


202  MEGDA. 


I  do  not  doubt  but  that  she  was  both,  to  say  what  she 
did.  She  slid  from  the  window  seat  to  her  feet,  and 
looked  at  Ethel  with  stormy,  dark  eyes. 

"Ethel,  I  want  nothing  of  a  society  that  harbors 
such  a  hypocrite  as  Maude  Leonard." 

Poor  Meg.  Ethel's  delicate  face  flushed  crimson. 
"  Meg !  "  was  all  she  said. 

Meg  turned  wearily  away.  "I  have  shocked  you 
now,  Ethel ;  displeased  you,  perhaps  made  you  dis- 
like me  ;  but  I  have  spoken  the  truth.  You  know  it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  pretend  what  I  do  not  feel. 
I  am  glad  that  it  is.  I  despise  a  liar  and  a  deceitful 
person.  If  I  were  to  go  to  your  meeting  to-night,  I 
should  derive  no  good  from  it  ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
would  make  me  feel  wicked.  I  will  confess  that  I  do 
wish  I  could  feel  this  happiness  that  you  and  Laurie 
tell  of.  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  wish  I  could 
do  as  Laurie  has  done  ;  but  to  do  that,  I  must  take 
Maude  Leonard  by  the  hand,  and  call  her  'sister,' 
and  I  will  never  do  that.  She  is  a  liar,  a  cheat  and 
a  deceiver." 

"  Meg,  do  you  know  what  you  are  saying  ? " 

"I  know  well  what  I  am  saying,"  retorted  Meg, 
fairly  roused ;  and  then  she  did  what  she  would  have 
scorned  to  do  a  month  ago  —  told  Ethel  the  whole 
story  of  the  "stolen  essay."  "Now  you  know  why 


A   NEW  HAPPINESS.  203 

I  will  not  do  what  you  ask,  Ethel.     Can  you  blame 
me  ? " 

Ethel  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  grieved  and 
shocked.  "What  you  have  told  me  has  surprised  and 
pained  me,  Meg,"  she  said  at  last.  "But  there  is 
one  thing  that  I  must  say  to  you.  If  you  had  the 
love  of  God  in  your  heart,  you  would  not  feel  in  this 
way  toward  even  the  meanest  of  His  creatures. 
You  would  not  take  it  upon  yourself  to  do  what  He 
only  has  a  right  to  do  —  to  judge  and  condemn. 
He  has  said,  judge  not,  and  ye  shall  not  be  judged ; 
condemn  not  and  ye  shall  not  be  condemned ;  forgive, 
and  ye  shall  be  forgiven.  If  you  forgive  not  oth- 
ers their  trespasses,  then  God  will  not  forgive  your 
trespasses.  We  are  none  of  us  perfect.  There  are 
none  that  do  good  —  no,  not  one.  Maude  has  done  a 
wicked  thing,  and  she  must  answer  for  it  one  day 
just  as  surely  as  you  and  I  stand  here.  She  may 
answer  for  it  to  you  and  Ruth  and  Madam  —  she 
will,  if  she  truly  repents  —  but  if  not,  then  she  must 
answer  for  it  when  she  stands  before  the  judgment 
bar.  And  Meg,  just  so  surely  will  you,  if  you  dare  to 
try  to  usurp  the  place  of  the  great  Judge  of  all,  by 
judging  and  condemning  as  you  are  doing,  be  brought 
to  account  for  it  at  the  last  day."  Then  Ethel  turned 
and  left  her,  and  Meg  stood  there  alone  —  speechless, 


204  MEGDA. 


remorseful  and  dismayed,  but,  thank  God  !  no  longer 
blind  to  her  own  folly  and  wickedness. 

Yes,  she  had  been  wicked.  Where  she  had  thought 
herself  so  free  from  all  petty  sinfulness;  so  upright 
and  noble  in  all  her  actions;  so  high-minded  and 
proud  of  her  own  spotless  character,  she  had  been 
only  miserably  self-conceited,  and  —  more  dreadful 
than  all  —  downright  wicked.  It  was  a  hard  blow  to 
her  pride,  and  she  could  not  just  then  forgive  Ethel 
for  dealing  the  blow,  although  she  knew  full  well  that 
it  had  been  done  out  of  the  deep  love  that  Ethel  felt 
for  her. 

"  Some  day  I  may  thank  her  for  opening  my  eyes 
to  my  own  wretched  state,"  thought  Meg,  as  she  sank 
down  in  her  seat  again,  still  dazed  and  dismayed.. 
"Yes,  I  have  done  wrong  —  I  see  that  I  have  —  but 
it  is  just  as  Ethel  said,  I  have  not  the  love  of  God  in 
my  heart.  Is  that  the  'something'  I  have  felt  the 
need  of  so  much  lately  ?  Does  it  explain  the  feeling 
of  longing  and  unrest  ?  If  it  does,  then  why  can't  I 
have  it  —  why  doesn't  it  come  to  me,  as  it  has  to  the 
others?  Is  it  because  my  nature  is  so  totally  unlike 
theirs?  Mr.  Stanley  said  the  other  Sunday  evening, 
that  no  two  persons'  Christian  experiences  were  alike. 
I  didn't  think  much  of  it  then,  but  perhaps  " 

"And  a  lady  I'll  surely  be,"  sang  a  voice.     "Oh, 


A   NEW  HAPPINESS.  205 

dear  me,  Meg,  is  that  you?  I  wish  some  old  'Scotch 
Laird '  would  fall  in  love  with  me.  I'd  marry  him,  if 
I  broke  the  hearts  of  a  dozen  'Donalds.'  Don't  you 
think  'Janet'  was  foolish?" 

"No.  Marriage  without  love,  is  a  failure,  May- 
flower. Hasn't  your  experience  taught  you  that  ?" 

"  He,  he,"  giggled  May,  throwing  her  books  down 
on  the  floor,  and  her  strap  after  them.  "Dell  says 
there's  no  such  thing  as  love.  Now  how  in  the  world 
can  she  say  that,  Meg,  with  such  a  specimen  as  Ed 
Holmes  continually  before  her?" 

"Don't  get  sentimental,  May-flower ;  get  religious, 
that  is  the  latest." 

The  words  were  not  spoken  as  lightly  as  they  read. 
The  two  girls  looked  steadily  at  each  other  for  a 
moment,  then  May  said  : 

"Their  religion  seems  to  make  them  very  happy, 
Meg.  Do  you  think  it  will  last  ? " 

At  one  time  Meg  would  have  laughed  outright  at 
such  a  question,  and  the  earnest  look  on  May's  chubby 
face  as  she  asked  it,  but  now  she  did  not  even  smile. 

"Yes,  I  do  think  it  will  last,  May,  and  I  think  it  is 
a  blessed  thing  to  have.  I  know  that  Elsie  seems  so 
perfectly  happy  that  I  almost  envy  her." 

"But,  Meg,"  said  May  wonderingly,  "why  do  you 
not  take  the  step,  then  ?  " 


206  MEGDA. 


"I  don't  know,"  answered  Meg  slowly.  "Only,  I 
do  not  feel  it  in  my  heart  to  do  so." 

"  I  do,"  said  May  suddenly,  and  with  a  hot  blush. 

Meg  turned  an  earnest  face  toward  her.  "Then  do 
it,  May;  do  it  at  once,  before  it  is  too  late." 

"I  will,  Meg." 

"Now,  let  us  go  to  the  'study';  it  is  half-past 
four." 

As  they  crossed  the  hall,  Meg  noticed  a  slip  of 
paper  on  the  floor.  She  picked  it  up,  and  saw  it  was 
some  poetry.  On  one  side  was  the  name  "Ethel" 
written  in  pencil.  "She  must  have  dropped  it  from 
her  book,"  thought  Meg,  and  followed  May  into  the 
"study." 

Laurie,  Lill,  Lulu,  Dell  and  Ruth  were  there,  pre- 
paring next  day's  lessons,  but  Ethel  was  not  there. 

"Where  is  Ethel,  girls?"  asked  Meg. 

"Just  gone,"  answered  Dell  briefly,  her  eyes  on  ner 
physiology. 

"  Her  father  came  for  her,"  explained  Laurie,  mak- 
ing room  on  the  jsofa  for  Meg.  "  He  was  going  to 
drive  into  the  city,  and  wanted  Ethel  to  go  with  him. 
How  many  sentences  have  you  translated,  Meg?" 

"None,  but  it  won't  take  me  long  to  do  them  all  — 
French  is  so  much  easier  than  Latin.  I  found  this 
piece  of  poetry  on  the  hall  floor;  it  has  Ethel's  name 


A   NEW  HAPPINESS.  207 

on  it,  so  I  suppose  it  is  hers ;  I  can  give  it  to  her  in 
the  morning." 

There  was  silence  in  the  "study"  for  half  an  hour, 
broken  only  by  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  as  the  girls 
turned  them.  The  wood  in  the  deep  fire-place  crack- 
led and  sparkled ;  the  last  ray  of  daylight  died  linger- 
ingly  away  as  if  loth  to  leave  so  pretty  a  picture.  One 
by  one  the  girls  dropped  their  books  into  their  laps, 
and  watched,  with  dreamy  eyes,  the  shadows,  as  they 
came  from  their  hiding  places  and  commenced  their 
twilight  dance  on  ceiling,  walls  and  doors.  It  was  the 
happiest  time  of  day  for  them  all,  only  always  before, 
the  dusky  silence  had  been  broken  by  spasmodic 
"talks"  and  laughter,  or  little  snatches  of  low  song. 
Before  Meg  had  commenced  her  translations,  she  had 
read  Ethel's  piece  of  poetry,  and  the  beautiful  words 
were  what  she  was  thinking  of  now : 


"  He  leadeth  me. 

In  pastures  green  ?     Not  always ;  sometimes  He 
Who  knoweth  best,  in  kindness  leadeth  me 
In  weary  ways,  where  heavy  shadows  lie. 

"  Out  of  the  sunshine  warm  and  soft  and  bright, 
Out  of  the  sunshine  into  darkest  night, 
I  oft  would  faint  with  sorrow  and  affright  — 

"  Only  for  this  —  I  know  he  holds  my  hand, 
So  whether  in  green  or  desert  land 
I  trust,  although  I  may  not  understand, 


208  MEGDA. 


"  And  by  still  waters  ?     No,  not  always  so ; 
Ofttimes  the  heavy  tempests  round  me  blow, 
And  o'er  my  soul  the  waves  and  billows  go. 

"But  when  the  storms  beat  loudest,  and  I  cry 
Aloud  for  help,  the  Master  standeth  by, 
And  whispers  to  my  soul,  '  Lo,  it  is  I.' 

"  Above  the  tempests  wild  I  hear  him  say, 
'Beyond  this  darkness  lies  the  perfect  day, 
In  every  path  of  thine  I  lead  the  way.' 

"  So,  whether  on  the  hill-tops  high  and  fair 
I  dwell,  or  in  the  sunless  valleys  where 
The  shadows  lie  —  what  matter  ?     He  is  there. 

"And  more  than  this;  where'er  the  pathway  lead, 
He  gives  to  me  no  helpless,  broken  reed, 
But  His  own  hand,  sufficient  for  my  need. 

"  So  where  he  leads  me  I  can  safely  go ; 
And  in  the  blest  hereafter  I  shall  know 
Why  in  His  wisdom  He  hath  led  me  so." 

"Out  of  the  sunshine  into  darkest  night," 

repeated  Meg  to  herself.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
there  were  any  dark  places  in  Ethel's  life  ?  Rich, 
lovely,  accomplished,  admired  and  respected  by  all, 
what  more  could  she  ask  for? 

"  I  oft  would  faint  with  sorrow  and  affright  — 
Only  for  this  —  I  know  he  holds  my  hand." 

Oh,  blessed  assurance  of  Divine  love  and  guidance  ! 
"Whatever  trouble  she  may  have,"   thought   Meg, 


A   NEW  HAPPINESS.  209 

"she  will  be  able  to  bear  it  for  she  will  have  His  arm 
to  lean  upon.  And  I  may  have  it  if  I  will.  That 
was  a  sweet  thought  that  Laurie  gave  me  —  "I  came 
not  to  call  the  righteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance." 
I  am  a  sinner  —  I  realize  it  now.  But  oh,  if  the  light 
would  only  come  —  come  as  it  has  to  the  others  !  " 

"Oh,  hum,"  yawned  Dell,  stretching  her  arms  up 
over  her  head,  and  sitting  up  straight  in  her  chair. 
"Are  we  here  for  the  night,  or  what?" 

There  were  long-drawn  breaths,  and  half-smothered 
sighs  at  such  an  abrupt  ending  of  all  dreams. 

"Oh,  Dell,  how  could  you!"  said  May,  reproach- 
fully, as  she  picked  up  the  book  that  had  slipped 
from  her  lap  to  the  floor. 

"  How  could  I,  May-flower  ?  Haven't  you  a  stom- 
ach, child?" 

"Haven't  I  a  stomach?"  repeated  Meg,  astonished 
at  such  a  strange  question.  "Of  course  I  have  —  or 
had  this  noon,  if  it  hasn't  walked  off." 

"Yours  may  have  walked  off,  but  mine  hasn't;  it 
is  clamoring  for  its  rights  now.  Who  is  going  my 
way  ? " 

"I  should  hope  I  wasn't,"  said  Meg,  solemnly. 
"  It  is  the  downward  road  to  destruction.  Haven't 
your  thoughts  of  the  past  half-hour  been  of  a  more 
elevating  character  than  "  — 


210  MEGDA. 


"  Haven't  had  any  thoughts,"  interrupted  Dell, 
beginning  on  a  second  yawn. 

"  Haven't  had  any  thoughts  !  You  don't  mean  to 
say  that  your  mind  has  been  wandering  in  space,  do 
you  ?  " 

"I  have  been  asleep." 

Every  one  laughed  at  the  confession  ;  it  was  so 
much  like  Dell. 

"I  might  have  given  you  something  to  dream 
about,"  said  Lill  slyly. 

"  What  w^s  that  ?  " 

"  Ed  Holmes  begins  to  study  medicine  with  Dr. 
Duncan  to-morrow." 

"Phooh,  I  knew  that  weeks  ago.  That  is  nothing 
to  dream  of." 

"I  give  you  up  as  a  bad  job,"  said  Lill  rather 
slangily. 

"And  Will  is  going  to  study  law  with  Lawyer 
Holmes,"  said  Meg.  "Doesn't  that  seem  strange? 
Will  studying  with  Ed's  father,  and  Ed  studying 
with  Will's  father." 

"Well,  it  would  never  do  for  Will  to  be  a  doctor," 
said  May.  "  When  he  entered  the  sick-room,  the 
patient  would  think  it  was  his  own  tombstone  walk- 
ing in,  and  would  prepare  himself  for  it  accordingly." 

"I   wonder,"   said   Laurie,   after  the  laughter  had 


A  NEW  HAPPINESS.  211 

somewhat  subsided,  "why  the  boys  have  changed 
around  so." 

Meg  came  very  near  saying,  "Why,  goose,  I  sup- 
pose each  one  has  chosen  the  profession  he  likes 
best,"  but  she  didn't  say  it ;  she  felt  as  if  she  should 
never  speak  contemptuously  to  Laurie  again.  Instead 
she  said  laughingly : 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  think  it  would  do  for  Will  to 
study  law  now." 

"  Why  not  ? "  everyone  asked. 

"Because  he  has  signified  his  desire  to  become  a 
Christian,  and,  of  course,  he  will  not  like  to  be  too 
much  of  a  'lieyar'." 

There  was  a  little  burst  of  merriment  at  this,  in  the 
midst  of  which,  Dell  walked  gravely  from  the  room, 
saying  as  she  went,  "  It  won't  do  to  stay  in  here  any 
longer.  Another  effort  like  that  last,  and  our  Meg 
would  be  among  the  missing." 

The  rest  picked  up  their  books,  and  followed  after. 
In  the  dressing-room  Lulu  said,  "  Have  any  of  you 
read  Mrs.  Humphrey -Ward's  new  book?" 

"Do  you  mean  Mrs.  'Ellsmere'?"  asked  Meg. 

"Yes." 

"I  haven't  read  it." 

"Nor  I." 

"  Nor  I." 


212  MEGDA. 


"And  you  don't  want  to  read  it,"  said  Ruth,  very 
determinedly. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Lill.  "I  have  read  'Robert 
Ellsmere'." 

"You  have?" 

"Yes;  but  I  skipped  over  the  'theology'  part  of  it, 

and  devoted  myself  exclusively  to  the  love  part.     It 

wasn't  much,  either.     That  '  Langham '  was  an  idiot 

—  didn't  know  his  own  mind  ten  minutes  at  a  time. 

I  say  that  'Rose'  was  well  rid  of  him." 

"I  have  not  read  it,"  said  Ruth.  "But  I  know 
what  it  is,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  read  it." 

"I  have  read  it,"  said  Meg.  "And  I  agree  with 
you,  Lill,  that  'Langham',  great  scholar  and  philoso- 
pher though  he  was,  was  not  worthy  of  one  of  the 
tears  that  'Rose'  shed  over  him.  He  was  utterly 
devoid  of  that  organ  commonly  called  the  heart ;  but 
I  suppose  if  he  had  ever  possessed  one  it  had  all  run 
to  brains  before  he  met  'Rose'.  But  why  do  you 
think  one  ought  not  to  read  it,  Ruth?" 

"Because  such  a  book  as  that  could  never,  by  any 
possibility,  do  one  any  good,  but  might  and  would  do 
one  much  harm." 

"Well,"  replied  Meg,  drawing  on  her  gloves,  "it 
might  not  do  for  every  one  to  read  it,  that  is  true, 
especially  if  one  made  a  study  of  it.  One  had  better 


.A  NEW  HAPPINESS.  213 

be  sure  of  his  strength  of  mind.  It  .wouldn't  do  for  a 
weak-minded  person  to  undertake  it." 

"  What  kind  of  a  book  is  '  Mrs.  Ellsmere '  ? "  asked 
May. 

" Haven't  read  it,"  answered  Meg;  "but  they  tell 

me  that  Mrs.  Ward  makes  '  Mrs.  E '  as  strong  an 

unbeliever  in  the  Divine  Christ  as  her  deceased  hus- 
band was  when  he  died,  and  finally  marries  her  to  a 
skeptic  of  the  first  water.  Her  daughter,  too,  I 
believe,  marries  ditto." 

"What  folly!"  remarks  Lulu,  with  the  air  of  an 
old  theologian.  "  Hadn't  she  any  more  sense  than  to 
do  that  ?  Such  a  strong-minded  woman  as  she  pre- 
tended to  be,  too !  She  was  dreadfully  afraid  that 
Rose,  silly,  weak-minded  Rose,  would  marry  a  skep- 
tic, but  that  is  always  the  way  your  high-souled, 
strong-minded  women  turn  out." 

"What  do  you  say  about  it,  Dell?"  asked  May,  as 
that  young  lady  rose  to  her  feet,  after  a  long  but 
silent  struggle  with  a  refractory  rubber. 

"I  say,"  replied  Dell,  flushed  but  victorious,  "that 
you  are  a  parcel  of  idiots ;  giving  your  opinion  on  a 
subject  that  you  know  about  as  much  of  as  I  do  — 
.and  that  is  nothing  —  just  as  if  you  were  so  many  vet- 
eran theologians.  I  advise  you  to  let  such  subjects 
alone  for  those  who  understand  them,  or  pretend  they 


214  MEGDA. 


do  so,  and  confine  yourselves  to  matters  of  every-day 
life.  It  would  be  much  more  to  the  purpose/' 

"So  say  we  all  of  us,"  commenced  Meg,  and  the 
others  joined  in,  and  went  down  stairs  and  through 
the  halls,  singing  —  but  not  too  loudly,  for  fear 
madam  would  correct  them  for  being  noisy  and 
unladylike.  As  they  closed  the  hall  door,  and  passed 
down  the  steps,  laughing  and  talking,  a  handsome 
sleigh  drawn  by  a  pair  of  spirited  black  horses,  came 
up  the  street.  A  lady  and  gentleman  were  seated  in 
it,  and  as  the  sleigh  passed  the  great  iron  gates  and 
the  group  of  girls  on  the  stone  steps,  the  lady  waved 
her  muff,  and  the  gentleman  raised  his  hat,  and  then 
the  sleigh  dashed  out  of  sight. 

"Ethel  and  Mr.  Stanley,"  said  Dell. 

"Thought  she  went  off  with  her  father,"  said  Lulu. 

"So  she  did,"  replied  Lill.  "But  Mr.  Stanley 
must  have  gone,  too." 

"They  drove  her  father  into  the  city  and  left  him 
there,  I  suppose,"  said  Dell. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  repeated  Meg  slowly. 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  215 


XV. 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT. 

T^HERE  will  be  a  baptism  in  this  place  of  worship 
on  Sunday  evening  next,  immediately  at  the 
close  of  the  service." 

The  young  pastor's  deep,  firm  voice  trembled  a  lit- 
tle, as  he  gave  the  announcement,  and  his  grave  face 
was  full  of  a  glad,  solemn  joy. 

It  was  a  bright,  beautiful,  cold  morning,  the  third 
Sunday  in  the  month  of  January.  Mr.  Stanley  went 
on  to  speak  of  the  joy  such  a  notice  gave  him. 
Eleven  young  hearts  had  been  touched  by  the  Divine 
Spirit,  and  filled  with  pure,  unselfish  love  for  Christ 
and  His  children,  which  is  one  of  the  first  and  surest 
signs  that  the  great  change  had  come  to  them.  He 
then  read  the  names  of  the  young  candidates :  Elsie 
Randal,  Ethel  Lawton,  Laura  Ray,  Maude  Leonard, 
May  Bromley,  Ruth  Dean,  Lilian  Norton,  Lulu  Mar- 
tin, Harold  Randal,  William  Duncan  and  Melvin 
Pierce.  Meg  and  Dell  sat  side  by  side  and  heard  Mr. 


216  MEGDA. 


Stanley  read  the  names  of  their  class-mates  and 
friends.  Dell's  lovely  face  did  not  change  once  in  its 
expression.  It  was  white,  cold  and  perfectly  com- 
posed. She  had  never  felt  the  least  desire  to  become 
a  Christian. 

"When  the  change  comes  to  Dell,  it  will  come  sud- 
denly, but  it  will  be  for  all  time.  There  will  be  no 
wondering  and  doubting  on  her  part.  She  will  feel  it 
and  understand  it,  and  do  what  she  is  commanded  to 
do,  without  any  questioning  and  without  one  look 
backward,"  Ethel  had  said  to  Mr.  Stanley,  and  he  had 
perfectly  agreed  with  her. 

He  and  Ethel  had  decided  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  trying  to  persuade  either  Meg  or  Dell. 
Such  natures  as  theirs,  were  not  to  be  persuaded 
against  themselves. 

"We  will  leave  .them  to  the  all-merciful  and  all- 
seeing  God,  who  brings  all  good  things  to  pass  in  His 
own  good  time,"  said  Mr.  Stanley. 

A  quiver  passed  over  Meg's  face  as  she  listened ; 
her  lips  trembled  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  Meg 
wished  with  all  her  heart  that  her  name  was  on  that 
list  of  happy  ones.  She  had  been  hoping  and  long- 
ing for  the  last  week  that  the  light  would  come  to 
her,  but  it  had  not  come.  "And  I  never  will  pretend 
what  I  do  not  feel,"  she  had  said  firmly.  No  one  had 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  217 

tried  to  persuade  her ;  a  general  feeling  seemed  to 
prevail  that  it  was  best  to  leave  her  and  Dell  alone. 
Mr.  Stanley's  sermon  that  morning  was  especially 
good.  He  preached  from  Matthew  xxviii:  19 —  "Go 
ye  therefore,  and  teach  all  nations,  baptizing  them  in 
the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost." 

There  were  not  many  dry  eyes  among  the  congre- 
gation. Meg  sat  and  looked  at  Mr.  Stanley.  She 
somehow  felt  a  respect  for  him  that  she  had  never 
felt  for  another  person,  and  as  she  listened  to  the 
earnest  words  that  came  from  his  lips,  she  felt  her 
heart  throb  and  beat  with  a  feeling  she  had  never 
experienced  before.  Yet,  right  in  the  midst  of  it  all 
—  when  his  voice  was  ringing  out  its  gladsome  words, 
when  his  face  was  expressing  his  deepest  emotions, 
when  the  congregation  were  listening  with  touched 
hearts  and  humid  eyes,  Meg,  all  at  once,  commenced 
to  shake  in  silent  but  uncontrollable  laughter.  Dell 
looked  at  her  in  shocked  surprise.  Meg  felt  rather 
than  saw  her  reproachful  eyes  upon  her,  and  only 
shook  the  more.  She  laughed  until  the  tears  rolled- 
down  her  cheeks ;  she  felt  as  if  every  eye  were  fas- 
tened upon  her  in  stern  displeasure ;  worse  than  all 
she  felt  that  she  was  committing  an  unpardonable 
offense  in  the  house  of  God,  and  toward  the  man  of 


218  MEGDA. 


God,  yet  she  could  no  more  help  it  than  she  could 
help  breathing.  And  yet,  when  I  tell  you  the  cause 
of  her  strange  outburst  of  merriment,  I  am  very  much 
afraid  that  you  will  blame  her  greatly  for  her  want  of 
self-control. 

All  at  once  while  she  had  been  looking  at  and  list- 
ening intently  to  Mr.  Stanley,  the  "hat  adventure" 
had  flashed  across  her  mind.  She  could  not  account 
for  it  then,  nor  ever  afterward;  but  she  seemed  to 
see  him  before  her  eyes  as  plainly  as  she  had  done  on 
that  night,  with  the  misshapen  hat  tied  on  his  head 
with  the  broad,  pink  ribbon,  his  eyes  full  of  gay  laugh- 
ter, and  the  broken  umbrella  turned  inside  out,  in  his 
hands.  Then  the  picture  of  herself  and  Mr.  Stanley 
in  hot  pursuit  after  the  whirling  hat,  passed  before 
her  mental  vision,  and  she  felt  that  she  should  be 
obliged  to  get  up  and  leave  the  church.  She  thought 
of  all  the  solemn  things  that  had  ever  happened  under 
her  observation,  but  it  did  no  good.  Dell  did  not 
help  matters  any  by  bestowing  a  warning  and  most 
unmerciful  pressure  of  her  foot  on  Meg's  toes.  At 
last  the  paroxysm  passed  —  "spent  itself,"  as  Dell 
said  afterward,  and  Meg  leaned  back  in  her  seat, 
exhausted,  with  her  handkerchief  pressed  against  her 
eyes.  What  the  proud  girl  suffered  no  one  can  real- 
ize, but  enough  to  extenuate  herself  from  all  blame 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  219 

and  reproach.  She  did  not  raise  her  eyes  again  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  service. 

Mr.  Stanley's  voice  had  not  faltered  in  the  least; 
his  face  expressed  neither  pain  nor  surprise.  When 
he  closed  his  Bible  and  sat  down,  there  was  the  same 
deep  joy  in  his  face  that  had  marked  it  at  the  opening 
of  the  service. 

When  it  came  Meg's  turn  to  shake  hands  with  Mr. 
Stanley  at  the  door  she  never  spoke  —  did  not  even 
lift  her  eyes  to  his.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  never 
look  into  his  face  again.  To  her  surprise  he  kept  her 
hand  in  his  firm,  warm  grasp,  as  if  waiting  for  her  to 
look  at  him.  Of  the  two  "evils"  Meg  chose  the 
least.  She  lifted  two  large,  dark  eyes  swimming  in 
tears,  to  his.  Meg  did  not  know  what  a  beseeching 
look  there  was  in  their  shadowy  depths ;  it  really  bor- 
dered on  the  pathos.  The  dark-blue  eyes  that  looked 
back  into  hers  were  full  of  nothing  but  kindness  and 
good-feeling.  To  add  to  Meg's  astonishment  and 
delight,  Mr.  Stanley  said,  in  a  low,  thrilling  voice, 
"The  happy  time  can  not  be  far  distant  for  you,  my 
friend." 

She  looked  at  him  and  knew  that  either  he  had  not 
seen  her  laughing,  or  else  he  had  mistaken  the  nature 
of  her  emotion.  She  bowed  her  head  in  reply,  and 
followed  Dell  out  into  the  vestibule. 


220  MEGDA. 


"Dell,  did  he  see  me,  or  —  what?"  She  knew  she 
could  trust  Dell  —  she  would  be  sure  to  tell  her 
right. 

"He  saw  you,"  said  Dell  promptly;  "but  he 
thought  you  were  crying." 

Meg  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "And  he'll 
never  know  the  difference,"  she  said  emphatically. 
And  he  did  not,  until  years  after. 

"  What  about  the  rest,  Dell  ?  What  do  you  think 
they  thought?" 

"Only  those  right  around  us  saw  you,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  they  thought  the  same  as  Mr.  Stanley. 
But,  Meg,  what  in  the  world  was  the  matter?" 

"Hysterics,"  replied  Meg. 

"Well,  I  advise  you  to  leave  them  at  home  when 
you  go  to  church,"  said  Dell  dryly.  "You  might 
have  to  be  carried  out,  you  know." 

"  I  wonder  why  Ethel  has  waited  until  now  to  be 
baptized,"  said  Dell,  thoughtfully,  as  they  waited  for 
the  rest  of  the  girls  to  come  out. 

"She  is  not  strong,  you  know,"  said  Meg.  "Per- 
haps that  is  the  reason." 

"Well,  she  is  no  stronger  now  than  she  has  been 
for  a  year  or  more;  not  so  strong,  in  my  opinion." 

"No?  Do  you  think  she  looks  feeble?"  asked 
Meg. 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  221 

"Yes,  very.     Her  skin  is  like  wax." 

"So  is  yours." 

"There  is  a  great  difference  between  the  whiteness 
.of  my  skin  and  that  of 'Ethel's,"  replied  Dell,  who 
fully  realized  how  beautiful  she  was,  but  didn't  con- 
sider it  necessary  to  be  foolish  because  she  was  beau- 
tiful ;  therefore,  she  accepted  the  fact  as  a  fact,  and 
nothing  more.  "  Mine  is  a  healthy  white,  and  hers  a 
sickly  white." 

"Who  is  sick?"  asked  May,  coming  up  in  time  to 
catch  Dell's  last  words. 

"Dell  thinks  Ethel  looks  feeble,"  said  Meg,  over 
whose  fair  face  a  shadow  had  fallen.  "  What  do  you 
think  about  it,  May?" 

"I  think  she  looks  decidedly  feeble,"  replied  May. 
"It  is  my  opinion  that  if  she  hasn't  consumption,  she 
will  have  it  before  many  years." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  Meg  sharply.  "She 
is  no  more  consumptive  than  you  or  I.  Here  come 
the  rest;  let  us  go  down  stairs." 

A  vague  fear  had  entered  Meg's  heart.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  Ethel  would  really  be  with  them  for 
only  a  little  while  longer  ?  Perhaps  that  was  the 
"dark  spot"  in  her  life.  Perhaps  she  knew  that  she 
had  only  a  little  while  longer  to  live,  and  that  was 
why  she  was  so  sad  at  times. 


000 


MEGDA. 


"Oh,  it  can't  be,  it  can't  be!"  thought  Meg. 
"She  is  too  good,  too  noble.  She  must  live  to  carry 
on  the  grand  work  she  has  begun.  The  world  would 
be  so  much  better  for  her  living.  There  are  others 
that  can  be  spared  a  great  deal  better  than  she ;  some 
who  do  more  evil  than  good  by  their  lives." 

The  large  church  was  filled  to  overflowing  at  an 
early  hour  on  the  following  Sunday  evening.  The 
young  candidates  occupied  seats  in  front  It  had 
been  their  wish  that  Meg,  Dell,  Will  and  Ed  should 
sing  the  hymn  each  one  had  chosen.  That  Will 
might  assist,  it  was  understood  that  he  was  to  be  the 
last  to  be  baptized.  There  is  no  denying  that  Meg 
felt  decidedly  nervous  —  something  new  for  her.  "  I 
am  so  afraid  that  Elsie  will  faint,  or  Laurie  cry  or  May 
struggle,  or  something,"  she  whispered  to  Dell,  as 
Mr.  Stanley  left  the  room  to  prepare  for  the  baptism. 

•'Nonsense,"  replied  Dell,  finding  the  first  hymn 
with  the  calmest  face  imaginable.  "  I'll  shake  them 
out  of  their  shoes  to-morrow,  if  they  dare  to  do  such 
a  thing." 

The  candidates  now  rose  from  their  seats  and 
passed  into  the  class-room  at  the  left  of  the  pulpit. 
In  a  few  moments  Mr.  Stanley  came  out.  "  I  never 
thought  him  handsome  before,"  said  Meg,  to  herself, 
"but  to-night  his  face  is  fairly  beautiful" 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  223 

Mr.  Stanley  stood  with  the  open  Bible  in  his  hand. 

"  As  it  is  written  in  the  prophets,  behold,  I  send 
my  messenger  before  thy  face,  which  shall  prepare 
thy  way  before  thee.  The  voice  of  one  crying  in  the 
wilderness,  Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord,  make  his 
paths  straight.  John  did  baptize  in  the  wilderness, 
and  preach  the  baptism  of  repentance  for  the  remis- 
sion of  sins." 

Perfect  stillness  settled  over  the  large  congre- 
gation ;  the  prayer  was  short  but  impressive.  Then 
Mr.  Stanley  descended  the  steps,  and  the  beautiful 
voices  of  the  choir  rang  out,  clear,  sweet  and  soul- 
thrilling,  "  Nearer  my  God,  to  Thee."  At  the  close 
of  the  first  verse  Elsie  came  forward  from  the  class- 
room. Mr.  Stanley  received  her  at  the  top  of  the 
steps. 

"I  hear  Thy  gentle  voice,"  was  the  hymn  that 
Elsie  had  chosen,  and  very  sweetly  they  sang  it !  As 
Mr.  Stanley  baptized  Elsie,  Meg  felt  like  crying  out, 
"Take  me  with  you,  sister;  oh,  take  me  with  you." 

She  saw  their  mother  wipe  the  glad  tears  away,  and 
thought,  "I  am  glad  that  two  of  her  children  have 
made  her  so  happy." 

May  came  next,  then  Maude ;  and  Meg  looked  on  at 
Maude's  baptism  without  one  contemptuous  thought; 
the  scene  was  too  grandly  solemn  for  that.  She 


224  MEGDA. 


only  said  to  herself  gravely,  "  God  is  her  Judge,  not 
I."  Surely  the  seed  scattered  by  Ethel  had  fallen  on 
fertile  ground. 

Laurie  came  next,  looking  so  small,  so  delicate,  so 
child-like.  Laurie  had  chosen  for  her  hymn,  "Take 
me  as  I  am." 

Ruth  followed,  then  Lill,  then  Lulu,  and  then 
Ethel.  Ethel  had  chosen  the  beautiful  hymn,  so  old 
and  yet  ever  new,  "Jesus,  Lover  of  my  Soul.*' 
When  Meg  looked  at  Ethel  as  she  appeared  in  the 
door-way,  she  looked  at  her  through  a  mist  of  tears ; 
when  the  mist  cleared  away,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if 
she  were  looking  on  one  of  God's  angels.  All  the 
girls  had  worn  white,  but  somehow  or  other  it  seemed 
as  if  there  was  something  about  Ethel  that  the  others 
did  not  have.  The  slender,  fragile  form  seemed 
almost  spiritualized.  Her  skin  was  as  white  as  the 
driven  snow;  her  eyes  large,  blue  and  shining.  But 
lovelier  than  anything  Meg  had  ever  seen  was  the 
expression  of  the  delicate  face.  I  cannot  paint  it ; 
only  it  was  just  such  an  expression  as  Meg  had  always 
imagined  the  angels  of  Heaven  must  wear. 

Meg  never  realized  before  the  grand  solemnity  of 
the  baptismal  service.  She  thought : 

"  If  such  scenes  on  earth  are  so  beautiful,  what 
must  Heaven  be  !  "  Her  heart  was  filled  with  joy 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT.  225 

inexpressible,  when  she  saw  Hal  come  forward  in  his 
turn.  He  looked  so  good,  so  earnest,  so  noble.  Mel- 
vin,  too,  how  thoroughly  happy  he  appeared.  Will 
looked,  as  Meg  knew  he  would,  grave,  almost  stern, 
and  very  determined. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  sermon,  Mr.  Stanley  raised 
his  right  hand  toward  Heaven.  "  Lord,  it  has  been 
done  as  Thou  hast  commanded,  and  yet  there  is 
room." 


226  MEGDA. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

EASTER. 

TOASTER,  this  year,  came  .cm  the  thirteenth  of 
••— '  April.  It  was  a  bright,  cool,  lovely  morning. 
It  seemed  as  if  old  Mother  Nature  had  decked  her 
matronly  form  in  her  most  beautiful  robe,  in  honor  of 
the  anniversary  of  our  risen  Lord.  "  Our  girls,"  too, 
seemed  determined  not  to  let  the  old  Dame  get  ahead 
of  them  in  point  of  dress.  Every  one,  even  Ruth, 
came  out  resplendent  in  new  hats  and  dresses.  I  do 
not  intend  to  give  a  description  of  each  one  individu- 
ally ;  collectively,  there  was  nothing  that  they  so  much 
resembled,  sitting  together  as  they  did,  as  a  bouquet 
of  sweet,  delicately-tinted  flowers.  I  must  tell  about 
Meg's  dress ;  it  was  the  prettiest  one  of  all,  as  perhaps 
it  was  the  simplest.  It  was  one  of  those  beautiful, 
delicate  shades  of  " apple  green,"  made  very  plainly, 
and  fitted  her  slender  form  to  perfection.  She  wore 
a  small  hat  covered  entirely  with  apple  blossoms  — 
delicate  pink  and  white  beauties.  But  I  do  not  think 


EASTER.  227 


it  was  so  much  the  delicate  dress,  or  the  dainty  hat 
that  made  her  look  so  charming,  as  it  was  the  soft, 
dreamy  expression  of  her  fair  face.  Her  dark  eyes 
looked  wistful  and  tender,  and  her  red  lips  were 
curved  in  a  little,  dimpled  smile.  I  am  not  trying  to 
make  Meg  out  a  beauty,  nor  am  I  indulging  in  foolish 
rhapsodies  over  a  new  dress  and  hat,  but  to  me  there 
is  nothing  as  beautiful  and  altogether  pleasing,  as  a 
sweet,  fair,  pure  life  at  the  time  when  "  girl-hood  is 
about  to  pass  through  the  window,  and  womanhood 
stands  knocking  at  the  door."  It  is  "  the  time  of  all 
times "  to  them.  With  the  life  stretching  before 
them  like  a  vista,  and  only  the  bright,  happy,  cloud- 
less experiences  of  their  girlhood  to  teach  them  how 
to  enter  it.  Happy  they  who  "  remember  their  Cre- 
ator in  the  days  of  their  youth,"  and  early  look  to  Him 
as  their  Guide  and  Protector  through  all  the  dark 
journey  of  life. 

Mr.  Stanley's  text  this  morning  was:  "He  is  not 
here,  but  is  risen."  Luke  xxiv :  6.  At  the  close  of  the 
sermon  he  gave  the  following  illustration:  "In  one 
of  the  gloomy  prison  cells  of  dark  Siberia,  sat  a  poor, 
hunted,  heart-broken  prisoner.  His  face  was  lined" 
and  seamed  with  suffering;  his  eyes  were  full  of  a 
dull,  heavy  despair.  Cruel  irons  manacled  his  wrists 
and  ankles.  For  many  weary  weeks  he  had  been  a 


228  MEGDA. 

prisoner  in  that  dreary  cell.  Wild  thoughts  of  escape 
had  flashed  through  his  mind  again  and  again,  but  — 
the  smallest  infant  in  the  hands  of  a  strong  man  was 
not  less  helpless  than  he  in  the  grasp  of  a  merciless, 
cold-blooded  despotism.  Escape  was  an  utter  impos- 
sibility, death  a  terrible  certainty,  unless  some  man 
would  come  forward  and  offer  his  life  for  his.  Vain 
hope !  The  man  had  not  a  friend  in  the  whole  wide 
world. 

"  All  at  once,  as  he  sat  there,  the  door  swung  open 
without  a  sound,  and  a  man  entered  the  room.  He 
was  of  a  most  noble,  majestic  presence ;  his  face  was 
grand  in  its  calm,  noble  beauty ;  the  eyes  were  deep, 
and  full  of  a  tender  pity.  The  wretched  prisoner 
with  the  irons  on  wrists  and  ankles,  fell  prostrate  on 
the  stone  floor,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  as  if 
blinded  by  the  glorified  beauty  of  the  gracious 
presence. 

"Words  cannot  express  his  unbounded  astonish- 
ment when  he  felt  himself  lifted  from  the  cold  floor 
by  arms  that  were  strong  and  tender,  and  heard  a 
matchless  voice  saying,  'Arise  and  be  not  afraid,  for 
I  have  come  to  save  you.' 

"'To  save  me?'  The  poor  lips  could  scarcely 
form  the  words,  but  the  man  understood.  His  smile 
was  infinitely  sweet  as  he  answered : 


EASTER.  229 


" '  Yes,  to  save  you.  I  will  give  my  life  for  you, 
that  you  may  be  free.  The  door  is  open,  pass 
through,  and  go  forth  into  the  light — a  free  man.' 

" 'But  who  are  you ? '  gasped  the  bewildered  man. 

" « I  am  the  Son  of  your  King,  and  heir  to  His 
throne,  but  I  have  offered  my  life  that  yours  might  be 
spared ;  the  decree  is  passed,  it  cannot  be  recalled.  I 
gladly  lay  down  my  life  that  you  may  be  saved.  Go 
forth,  and  sin  no  more.'  He  stooped  and  unfastened 
the  chains  from  about  the  man's  wrists  and  ankles, 
and  he  passed  through  the  open  door  and  went  out  of 
the  terrible  place  into  the  pure,  glad  sunlight  of  a 
bright  world,  saved  !  But  at  what  a  price  !  " 

There  was  intense  silence  in  the  large  room  as 
Mr.  Stanley  closed  his  Bible  and  looked  about  him. 

"My  friends,  the  Son  of  the  great  King  of  Heaven, 
Heir  to  the  great  white  throne,  has  laid  down  His 
life  that  you  might  be  saved.  Will  you  not  accept 
the  sacrifice  so  freely  given  ?  For  you  He  suffered 
the  shame  and  agony  of  the  cross.  For  you  that 
noble  head,  with  its  crown  of  cruel,  piercing  thorns, 
was  bowed  low  in  the  dust.  He  knew  what  it  was  to 
be  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  no  one  offered  Him  bread 
to  eat  or  water  to  drink.  He  was  tired  and  sick  and 
weary  unto  death,  yet  there  was  no  place  in  which  He 
could  ky  His  head.  The  agony  in  the  garden  —  what 


230  MEGDA. 


must  it  have  been  for  His  bleeding,  tortured  heart  to 
cry  out,  'If  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from 
me/  and  the  great  drops  of  blood  stood  out  upon  His 
forehead.  The  agony  of  the  cross  —  but  %who  can 
paint  it  ?  It  is  beyond  all  human  power.  It  is 
enough  that  we  know  it  was  so  great  as  to  wring  the 
despairing  cry,  'My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  Thou 
forsaken  me  ? '  from  those  dear  lips. 

"And  all  this  He  suffered  for  you  and  for  me  — 
poor,  miserable  sinners,  not  worthy  of  one  drop  of 
that  precious  blood  that  flowed  from  the  thorn- 
crowned  head  and  pierced  side.  Once  more  I  ask 
you,  will  you  accept  of  the  sacrifice?  I  pray  God 
that  you  may  before  it  is  too  late." 

Meg  had  listened,  almost  breathlessly;  her  soul 
had  hung  upon  every  word  that  came  from  the 
preacher's  lips,  and  when  he  said,  "All  this  He  suf- 
fered for  you  and  for  me,"  a  great  wave  of  sorrow 
passed  over  her.  She  felt  it  throb  through  every 
vein  of  her  body.  It  quickened  the  beating  of  her 
heart,  and  filled  her  eyes  to  overflowing.  She  felt 
like  falling  upon  her  knees  then  and  there,  and  bow- 
ing her  head  before  the  power  of  the  Omnipotent. 
She  could  not  do  that,  but  she  could  and  she  did  pros- 
trate her  soul  before  Him.  In  her  heart  she  cried 
out:  "I  love  Thee,  my  Saviour.  Take  me  just  as  I 


EASTER.  231 


am,  and  make  me  clean."  Then  how  inexpressibly 
happy  she  felt !  She  could  hardly  wait  for  the  ser- 
vice to  end,  she  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  go  home  and 
go  to  her  room,  and  thank  God  on  her  knees  for  His 
wonderful  goodness  and  mercy.  She  wanted  to  tell 
Him  how  much  she  loved  Him. 

For  the  first  time  the  feeling  of  longing  and  unrest 
was  made  clear.  And  all  this  peace  and  joy  would 
have  been  hers  months  ago  if  she  had  only  opened 
her  heart  to  Him,  surrendered  her  will  to  His  and 
believed  on  Him  as  ,her  Saviour.  That  is  all  the 
secret  —  if  secret  there  is. 

Mr.  Stanley  did  not  go  down  to  the  door  that 
morning.  Meg  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  he  was  not 
coming;  but  he  stepped  down  from  the  pulpit,  and 
went  up  to  the  seat  on  which  he  had  thrown  his  light 
overcoat  and  hat.  He  had  gotten  one  arm  in,  and 
had  turned  to  put  the  other  in,  when  the  coat  was 
lifted  gently,  and  drawn  up  over  his  shoulders.  He 
turned  with  a  smile,  and  a  "Thank  you"  on  his  lips, 
not  knowing  who  had  done  him  the  kindness.  He 
stopped  at  sight  of  a  fair,  girlish  face  fairly  quivering 
with  happiness,  and  two  large,  dark  eyes  overflowing 
with  a  light  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before,  but 
which  he  had  long  prayed  that  he  might  see. 

Meg  held  out  her  little  hand,  and  he  grasped  it 


232  MEGDA. 


tightly.     "  Thank  you,"  was  all  she  said  ;  and,  "  God 
bless  you,"  he  answered. 

At  a  quarter  before  eight  on  the  following  Thurs- 
day evening,  the  vestry  of  the  church  was  nearly 
filled.  As  the  last  stroke  of  the  bell  died  away,  the 
doors  were  closed.  All  of  our  young  people  were  there 
and,  as  usual,  sitting  together.  Elsie  and  Mrs.  Ran- 
dal sat  exactly  opposite.  The  meeting  opened  in  the 
usual  manner,  but  everyone  noticed  a  something 
about  their  pastor  which  they  had  never  observed 
before.  They  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  A  deeper 
joy  in  the  dark-blue  eyes,  a  glad,  expectant  look  on 
the  earnest  face,  and  a  little  nervous  trembling  of  the 
strong  hands  which  was  something  very  unusual. 
Even  Ethel  noticed  and  slightly  wondered. 

Many  testimonies  were  given,  and  several  hymns 
sung.  It  was  a  grand  meeting.  At  last  there  was  a 
brief  silence;  one  of  the  " periods"  that  come  in  a 
prayer-meeting  at  times  —  and,  alas!  only  too  often 
in  some.  The  clock  ticked  loudly  on  the  wall.  One 
or  two  pages  turned  softly  as  if  some  one  was  seeking 
a  hymn.  Mr.  Stanley  sat  in  his  chair,  his  elbow  rest- 
ing upon  the  table,  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand.  It 
seemed  as  if  all  were  quietly  waiting  for  something, 
but  Mr.  Stanley  was  the  only  one  who  knew  for  what. 

It  seemed  to  Meg  as  if  her  heart  were  trying  to 


EASTER.  233 


beat  above  the  ticking  of  the  clock.  Surely  every 
one  must  hear  it.  She  had  been  fully  determined  to 
rise  and  tell  of  her  happiness,  and  the  resolve  she  had 
made.  It  had  seemed  a  comparatively  easy  thing  to 
do  when  she  had  thought  of  it  at  home  and  at  school, 
but  now,  when  the  very  moment  had  arrived,  she  felt 
as  if  it  were  an  utter  impossibility.  She  stole  a 
glance  at  her  mother's  face  to  see  if  she  might  find 
encouragement  there.  It  was  calm,  serene,  and  wore 
its  habitual  patient  smile.  She  looked  at  Elsie's 
beside  it.  For  the  first  time  sl*e  noticed  how  much 
alike  the  two  faces  were  in  feature  and  expression. 
She  glanced  at  Ethel  —  sweet,  pure  and  full  of  a 
heavenly  joy.  The  sight  quieted  the  rapid  beating  a 
little.  She  looked  at  Mr.  Stanley.  She  could  see 
but  little  of  his  face,  for  it  was  hidden  by  his  hand, 
but  his  whole  attitude  expressed  a  quiet  expectancy. 
"Oh,  I  must  get  up!"  went  like  a  flash  through 
Meg's  mind;  then  all  at  once  she  whispered,  "Jesus, 
help  me."  The  next  moment  she  was  on  her  feet, 
and  then  she  left  all  the  rest  with  Him.  What  she 
said,  how  she  looked  and  acted,  whether  she  appeared 
graceful  or  awkward  —  all  these  things  which  had 
troubled  her  a  little  when  she  had  thought  of  them, 
were  of  no  thought  to  her  now.  She  was  before  her 
God,  and  talking  to  Him,  not  to  the  people  there : 


234  MEGDA. 


"I  love  my  Saviour,  and  I  put  myself,  my  whole 
life,  into  His  care  and  keeping,  to  do  with  as  He  will, 
trusting,  knowing  that  whatever  He  may  do  will  be 
all  for  my  good.  I  love  Him  with  all  my  heart, 
because  He  first  loved  me  and  gave  His  life  for  me. 
I  am  most  unworthy  of  His  love  and  goodness,  but  I 
have  done  just  what  He  has  told  us  all  to  do.  I  have 
asked  Him  to  forgive  me  all  my  sins,  and  I  have 
faithfully  promised  Him  to  trust  Him  in  all  things, 
and  to  love  Him  and  serve  Him  while  life  shall  last. 
Pray  for  me  that  the  light  may  grow  brighter  and 
brighter  before  me,  and  I  may  follow  wherever  it  may 
lead  —  through  the  'weary  ways  where  heavy  shadows 
lie,'  as  well  as  through  the  'bright,  green  meadows 
where  the  sunshine  is'." 

"Amen." 

The  word  came  from  touched,  overflowing  hearts  — 
deeply,  earnestly,  thankfully ;  then  Ethel's  sweet,  low 
voice  commenced : 

"  Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea, 
But  that  Thy  blood  was  shed  for  me , 
And  that  Thou  bidd'st  me  come  to  Thee 
O,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come,  1  come." 

Before  she  had  sung  three  words,  the  whole  room 
took  it  up,  Meg's  voice  ringing  out  above  all  the 
others.  It  seemed  as  if  the  sound  must  rise  to  the 


EASTER.  235 


very  vault  of  Heaven,  and  that  the  angels  gathered 
about  the  great  white  Throne,  strike  their  harps,  and 
ring  out  their  grand  "Allelujah"  over  "the  one  sin- 
ner that  repenteth." 

To  Meg  it  seemed  as  if  the  room  were  full  of 
angels,  and  the  heavenly  melody.  It  was  the  happi- 
est moment  of  all  her  happy  young  life.  She  received 
the  warm  hand-shakes  and  hearty  words  of  welcome, 
at  the  close  of  the  meeting,  like  one  in  a  dream. 


236  MEGDA. 


XVII. 

MEG'S   TROUBLE. 

WHEN   Laurie  broached  the   subject   of    "bap- 
tism "  to   Meg  the   next   morning,   as   they 
walked  to  school  together  arm  in  arm,  Meg  answered 
her  gently  but  firmly : 

"No,  Laurie,  I  am  not  ready  to  take  that  step  just 
now,  and  shall  not  be  for  some  time  to  come.  I  want 
to  be  sure  of  myself  first  —  sure  of  my  own  worthi- 
ness, I  mean.  Suppose  I  should  be  baptized  —  say  in 
three  week's  time  —  and  then  should  meet  with  some 
temptation,  and  should  yield  to  it !  I  could  never 
forgive  myself.  I  should  be  that  most  contemptible 
of  all  contemptible  things  —  a  backslider.  Now  you 
know,  the  Church  thinks  it  wrong  to  dance,  and  play 
whist,  and  go  to  the  theater.  I  like  all  these  pleas- 
ures, and  have  always  indulged  in  them.  Whist  I 
do  not  care  so  much  about,  I  can  give  that  up;  but 
oh,  Laurie,  I  do  love  to  dance,  and  I  do  love  the  thea- 
ter. I  cannot  help  it.  It  will  be  hard  for  me  to 


MEG'S   TROUBLE.  237 

give  them  up,  and  until  I  feel  I  can  give  them  up 
cheerfully  and  willingly,  I  shall  not  unite  with  the 
church.  If  I  cannot  comply  with  the  requests  in 
every  particular  —  if  I  cannot  obey  every  law,  I  will 
wait.  I  do  not  think,  myself,  that  such  things  as 
dancing  and  the  theater  are  wicked,  but  they  are 
against  the  laws  of  the  Church,  and  those  laws  must 
be  recognized  by  all  members.  I  am  going  to  test 
myself,  Laurie ;  in  a  little  while,  when  I  feel  that  I 
can  withstand  the  temptations,  I  am  going  to  put* 
myself  in  the  way  of  them,  and  then  I  shall  know  if  I 
am  worthy  or  not.  If  I  yield  to  them  then  I  shall 
know  I  am  not  worthy ;  but  if  not,  then  I  shall  know 
my  strength  is  sufficient." 

Oh,  Meg,  sincere  and  earnest  in  all  you  say,  yet 
how  mistaken  !  The  first  prize  in  logic  was  bestowed 
upon  you  at  the  final  examination  last  month,  but  the 
logic  you  are  using  now  is  very  poor  indeed.  You 
have  not  yet  learned  that  you  can  do  nothing  by  your 
own  strength,  but  with  Him  all  things  are  possible. 
Yet  Meg  was  doing  what  it  seemed  right  for  her  to 
do.  Besides,  she  had  set  a  hard  task  for  herself  to 
do,  and  we  must  pity,  not  blame. 

Laurie's  pretty  face  wore  a  puzzled  look.  "What 
you  say  sounds  all  right,  Meg;  and  if  it  is  the  way 
you  feel,  it  must  be  right.  I  have  never  felt  in  that 


238  MEGDA. 


way ;  but  then,  I  do  not  go  to  the  bottom  of  things  as 
you  do.  And,  any  way,  I  have  never  felt,  somehow  or 
other,  like  doing  either  of  the  things  you  mention, 
and  it  seems  now  as  if  I  never  should,  I  am  so 
happy." 

"But  you  may,  Laurie;  and  then  what  will  you 
do?" 

The  puzzled  look  deepened,  and  the  blue  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  "Oh,  Meg,"  she  said  tremulously,  "I 
shall  have  to  leave  it  all  with  Jesus." 

Dear  little  Laurie,  that  is  just  what  He  would  have 
you  do  —  all  He  asks  you  to  do.  And  yet,  Meg 
actually  pitied  Laurie  even  then,  for  her  lack  of 
strength  of  character. 

"  She  did  not  wait  long  enough,"  said  Meg  to  her- 
self, as  they  went  up  the  stone  steps.  "  She  asked  to 
be  forgiven  for  her  sins,  and  promised  to  live  better 
in  the  future,  and  then  she  thought  she  was  all  ready 
to  join  the  Church,  and  take  upon  herself  all  its 
requirements,  not  asking  herself  if  her  strength  was 
sufficient  to  resist  all  temptations.  She  just  gave 
herself  up  without  thinking  of  all  this." 

And  all  of  your  logic,  Meg,  will  not  do  for  you 
what  Laurie's  simple  faith  has  done,  and  will  do  for 
her.  You  will  say  that  Meg  had  not  read  her  Bible, 
or  she  would  have  seen  the  command,  "  Believe  and 


MEG'S   TROUBLE.  239 

be  baptized,"  or  perhaps  you  will  say  that  she  did 
what  so  many  do  in  these  days,  "  read  her  Bible  to 
suit  herself"  ;  but  she  did  read  her  Bible,  and  she  did 
not  read  it  to  suit  herself.  As  I  have  said  before  — 
she  was  doing  what  she  thought  was  right,  and,  if  she 
had  consulted  the  highest  earthly  authority,  her  duty 
or  her  idea  of  duty  would  have  remained  unchanged 
to  her.  The  only  thing  that  seemed  likely  to  teach 
her  better  was  —  experience.  It  is  often  so.  The 
lesson  of  obedience  is  often  taught  by  that  stern 
teacher.  So,  let  us  not  call  this  an  act  of  foolishness 
on  Meg's  part;  we  will  call  it  by  its  right  name  —  a 
mistaken  sense  of  duty. 

"  O,  row  me  o'er, 
O,  boat  me  o'er, 
O,  row  me  o'er  wi'  Charlie," 

May  Bromley  sang  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  as  she  flew 
along  the  passages  and  up  three  flights  of  stairs  to 
the  "seniors'  parlor." 

"Are  you  crazy,  May-flower ?"  asked  Meg,  sitting 
upright  on  the  sofa,  where  she  had  been  lying  with 
her  hands  up  over  her  head  for  the  last  half-hour. 
"  Or  can't  you  wait  one  day  longer  before  leaving  this 
decorous  establishment  ?  A  good  thing  for  you  that 
you  leave  of  your  own  accord  to-morrow;  such  a 


240  MEGDA. 


noise  as  that  is  enough  to  warrant  madam  presenting 
you  with  your  walking-ticket." 

Dell  and  Laurie,  each  lying  comfortably  back  in  an 
easy  arm-chair,  laughed  lazily,  while  May  seated  her- 
self in  the  window-seat,  and  opened  a  package  of 
nougattines.  "Don't  talk  slang,  Megda,"  she  said 
severely;  " it  isn't  pretty." 

But  Meg  was  looking  at  May  with  wide,  dark  eyes, 
and  a  look  of  surprise  on  her  face.  May  understood, 
and  smiled  airily  as  she  put  a  nougat  deliberately 
between  her  teeth,  and  bit  it  in  two  with  the  most 
aggravating  coolness.  Meg  lifted  the  sofa  pillow, 
stern  determination  in  her  eyes. 

"Your  choice,  May,"  she  said  solemnly. 

May  laughed  and  put  her  arm  up  to  protect  her 
head,  while  Lill,  who  had  been  lying  asleep  on  the 
sofa  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  came  walking 
slowly  up,  rubbing  her  sleepy  eyes,  and  sniffing 
suspiciously. 

"Does  my  nose  deceive  me,"  she  said  in  hollow 
tones,  "or  is  it  nougattines?" 

"You  have  named  them,  they  are  yours,"  said  May, 
"or  part  of  them,  at  least.  Put  down  that  feather-bed, 
Meg,  and  don't  look  so  wild — you  shall  have  one." 

"I  am  content,"  murmured  Meg,  sinking  languidly 
down  again. 


MUG'S  TROUBLE.  241 

"Where  did  you  get  them,  May?"  asked  Laurie, 
as  she  received  her  "share." 

"Why,  you  know,"  said  May,  dividing  them  gener- 
ously; "or,  'ef  you  don't  know,  den  I  tells  you/  I 
have  had  a  terrible  tooth-ache  all  day,  and  so  I  asked 
permission  of  madam  to  go  down  to  'Lothrops*  for 
some  oil  of  cloves,  and"  —she  passed  Meg's  share  to 
her  over  that  young  lady's  head  as  she  spoke. 

"You  got  the  nougattines  instead,"  finished  Meg, 
putting  her  hands  up  to  receive  them.  "Very  good 
indeed.  I  find  them  an  excellent  remedy  for  the 
tooth-ache  myself." 

May  held  the  "sweets"  just  out  of  reach  of  the 
white  fingers.  "But  I  eat  them  with  the  teeth  on 
the  other  side  of  my  jaw.  Isn't  that  possible? 
Answer." 

Meg  dropped  her  hands.  "She  wants  me  to 
answer,"  she  said  faintly,  appealing  to  the  ceiling, 
"and  holds  the  delicious  aroma  over  my  organ  of 
smell  at  the  same  time  —  so  near,  and  yet  so  far. 
Have  mercy,  May,  I  am  but  human." 

"And  very  human  where  nougattines  are  con- 
cerned," laughed  May.  "Answer  me,  then." 

"Don't  be  silly,  girls,"  said  Dell,  beginning  on  her 
third  one.  "Tell  her  she  can  chew  on  one  side  of 
her  mouth  as  well  as  the  other,  Meg.  You  don't 


242  MEGDA. 


know  what  you  are  missing.  These  are  about  the 
creamiest  nougats  I  ever  ate.  What  did  you  have  to 
give  a  pound,  May  ? " 

"How  you  do  take  the  poetry  out  of  anything, 
Dell,"  said  May  laughing,  as  Meg,  in  mock  despera- 
tion at  Dell's  words,  snatched  the  little  package  from 
her  hands.  "  I  only  gave  sixty  cents  a  pound." 

"Isn't  it  about  time  for  the  rest  of  us?"  asked 
Laurie. 

"Should  think  so,"  answered  May.  "Their  shares 
are  ready  for  them." 

"Here  they  come  now,"  said  Dell,  as  voices  were 
heard  in  the  hall  below. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you  that  madam  had  gone  out 
to  drive,  did  I?"  said  May.  "I  met  her.  She  had 
Miss  Tyler  and  Miss  White  with  her." 

"And  Professors  Strauss  and  Weir?"  asked  Meg. 

"No,  of  course  not.  It  wouldn't  have  been  setting 
a  good  example  to  'my  young  ladies',"  said  May,  in 
such  perfect  imitation  of  madam's  precise  tones  that 
they  all  laughed. 

"Well,  I  should  have  thought  she  might  have 
taken  the  whole  establishment  while  she  was  about 
it,"  said  Lill.  "Why  don't  those  girls  come  up! 
Call  them,  Laurie." 

"Yes,  do,  pet,"  said  May,  "or  there  won't  be  any- 


MEG'S   TROUBLE.  243 

thing  left  of  their  shares.  Lill  has  devoured  almost 
all  of  them  with  her  eyes  now." 

Meg  almost  choked  herself  with  a  nougat  at  this. 
Lill  smiled  supremely. 

"May  must  say  something,"  she  said,  not  the  least 
displeased. 

Laurie  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  called : 
"Girls,  come  up  here.  The  days  of  miracles  have 
not  passed  —  May  has  been  treating." 

"  What  ingratitude  !  "  groaned  May. 

Lulu  and  Ruth  rushed  up  stairs  at  this,  and  entered 
the  room.  "  All  here  ?  "  they  asked. 

"  All  but  Ethel  and  Maude,"  replied  May,  sliding 
from  the  window-seat,  and  placing  a  chair  for  each 
with  elaborate  politeness.  Then  she  gave  them  their 
"share"  and  went  back  to  her  perch. 

"Ethel  is  in  the  library,  but  she  is  coming  right 
up.  Don't  know  where  Maude  is,"  said  Lulu,  begin- 
ning on  hers. 

"I  do,"  said  May.  "And  I  was  going  to  tell 
when  I  first  came  in,  but  those  —  those  cannibals 
caught  sight  of  my  candy,  and  drove  the  idea  out  of 
my  head." 

"Poor little  head,"  murmured  Meg  compassionately. 
"What  a  cruel  thing  to  deprive  it  of  its  one  idea." 

"Tell  us  now,  May-flower,"  said  Lill  soothingly. 


244  MEGDA. 


"  I  will ;  Meg,  please  shut  your  eyes,  that  you  may 
not  hear.  Well,  I  met  our  fair  sister  out  driving. 
Her  father's  coachman  was  not  with  her,  either." 

"  Who  was  ? "  asked  Laurie. 

"Mr.  Augustus  Belmont." 

This  information  was  received  in  complete  silence, 
and  May  was  somewhat  disappointed ;  but  she  could 
blame  her  "treat"  for  that.  The  girls  were  enjoying 
it  too  much  to  become  excited  over  Mr.  Augustus 
Belmont. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  ? "  asked  May  at  last,  find- 
ing that  no  one  had  any  idea  of  saying  anything 
voluntarily. 

"Wouldn't  change  places  with  her,"  said  Dell,  with 
her  mouth  full. 

In  the  midst  of  the  laugh  that  followed,  Ethel  came 
in.  She  looked  very  pale  and  tired.  The  easiest 
chair  in  the  room  was  immediately  wheeled  forward, 
and  with  a  sweet  smile  and  a  "Thank  you"  to  May 
for  the  candy,  Ethel  sank  down  in  it. 

"How  pleasant!"  she  said,  looking  around  her  with 
pleased  eyes.  "You  don't  know  what  a  pretty  pic- 
ture you  did  make,  girls,  when  I  looked  at  you  from 
the  door- way." 

"What  must  it  be  now,  then?"  said  Meg  with 
loving  flattery. 


MEG'S  TROUBLE.  245 

It  was,  indeed,  a  beautiful  picture.  The  room  was 
partly  in  shadow,  for  May  had  drawn  the  blind  at  the 
window  where  the  June  sun  would  have  shone  in. 
May  was  curled  up  in  the  other  window-seat,  with  her 
head  leaning  against  the  dark  wood.  Meg  lay  at  full 
length  on  one  sofa,  one  arm  thrown  up  over  her  head, 
the  other  lying  in  her  lap  where  the  nougattines 
would  be  handy.  Lill  and  Lulu  occupied  the  other 
sofa  together,  their  arms  around  each  other;  when 
one  wanted  a  nougat  the  other  would  feed  her  with 
one.  Dell  was  buried  in  the  depths  of  an  easy  chair, 
Ruth  in  another,  while  Laurie  sat  on  an  ottoman  and 
leaned  her  head  against  Meg's  sofa.  Ethel's  easy- 
chair  was  drawn  up  beside  the  fire-place.  That 
had  always  been,  in  Summer  and  Winter,  Ethel's 
acknowledged  place.  The  dark,  gaping  mouth  of  the 
fire-place  was  filled  with  ferns  and  potted  plants,  until 
it  looked  like  a  little,  cool,  green  glen. 

It  was  a  dear,  dear  room,  whether  in  Winter,  when 
the  firelight  gleamed  on  wainscot  and  ceiling,  or  in 
Summer,  when  the  shadows  of  the  setting  sun  length- 
ened on  the  floor.  Dear  it  was  at  all  times  and  at  all 
hours,  but  more  especially  at  the  "  hour  of  all  hours  " 
to  our  girls — the  twilight  hour.  And  this  was  the 
last  time  they  would  ever  sit  here  as  pupils.  Never 
again  would  it  be  the  same  to  them  as  it  was  now. 


246  MEGDA. 


The  thought  was  too  sad,  and  they  tried  to  banish  it 
with  light  talk  and  laughter.  They  were  all  very 
careful  not  to  mention  "to-morrow".  All  that 
talk  had  been  gone  over  with  down  in  the  large 
hall. 

"Well,"   said  Laurie  at  last,   "I  wish    some   one 
would  tell  me  who  this  Mr.  Augustus  Belmont  is ;  I 
have  never  been  able  to  find  out." 
.    "Who  is  he,  Ethel?"  asked  May. 

"I  don't  exactly  know.  A  New  York  gentleman, 
Maude  says,  and  his  father  and  her  father  were  col- 
lege chums.  That  is  all  I  know." 

"College  fiddle-sticks,"  said  Dell.  "I  don't  believe 
it.  He  looks  like  a  rascal  to  me." 

Meg  laughed.  "  What  do  you  know  about  rascals, 
Dell  ?  How  many  have  you  ever  met  with  in  your 
short  life?" 

"Well,"  said  Dell,  nothing  abashed,  "he  looks  like 
a  very  dissipated  young  man  to  me.  His  eyes  are 
red,  and  his  skin  is  flabby." 

A  burst  of  laughter  at  this. 

"Maude,  is  engaged  to  him,"  said  Ruth.  "She 
told  me  so,  and  showed  me  her  ring.  A  large  dia- 
mond. I  hope  he  is  not  dissipated." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Ethel  slowly. 

"Maude  Leonard  engaged!"  exclaimed  Dell  indig- 


MEG'S   TROUBLE.  247 

nantly.  "What  can  her  father  and  mother  be  think- 
ing of !  Just  graduating ! " 

"My  mother  was  married  when  she  was  nineteen," 
said  Lill. 

"Yes,  but  people  are  supposed  to  be  more  enlight- 
ened now,"  said  Dell  dryly. 

"  Oh,  you  old  maid,  you,"  laughed  May ;  and  then 
she  asked  suddenly,  "How  old  is  Mr.  Stanley, 
Ethel  ? " 

"Twenty-six,"  answered  Ethel,  and  her  pale  face 
flushed  pink. 

"Who  is  the  oldest  one  in  our  class?"  continued 
May,  who  seemed  to  be  thirsting  for  information. 

After  comparing  notes,  it  was  found  that  Maude 
was  the  oldest,  as  she  had  just  passed  her  twentieth 
birthday,  and  the  others  would  not  be  twenty  until 
after  the  Summer.  Ethel  would  be  twenty  on  the 
first  day  of  September. 

Meg  could  not  think  why  May  asked  Ethel  how  old 
Mr.  Stanley  was.  But  she  explained  herself  while 
they  were  passing  up  the  stairs  to  the  dressing-room. 

"Mr.  Stanley  is  six  years  older  than  Ethel,  Meg. 
That  is  about  right,  isn't  it?"  she  whispered,  and 
Meg  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  said 
shortly,  "Do  wait  until  you  get  out  of  school,  May, 
before  you  talk  such  nonsense." 


248  MEGDA. 


"  A  remark  worthy  of  our  Adella,"  laughed  May. 

Silence  reigned  in  the  " study"  after  the  question 
of  age  had  been  settled.  Try  as  hard  as  each  one 
might,  she  could  not  keep  the  great  "to-morrow"  out 
of  her  mind.  Yet  it  was  not  with  any  feeling  of 
pride  that  she  looked  forward  to  graduating  day,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  with  one  of  deep  sadness.  To  think 
that  nevermore  would  the  dear  old  halls  resound  with 
their  light  footsteps,  and  merry  talk  and  laughter. 
Nevermore  would  they  assemble  in  careless,  .loving 
sisterhood  in  the  beloved  " study"  to  talk  over  their 
little  "plans,"  or  indulge  in  a  little  harmless  gossip 
over  no  one  in  particular,  but  the  world  in  general. 
Perhaps  this  last  half-hour  of  quiet  thinking  was  the 
saddest  that  had  ever  come  into  any  of  their  young 
lives.  At  last  Ethel  broke  the  silence,  and  all 
could  but  feel  glad  that  she  did,  it  had  become  so 
painful. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  place  myself  in  the  position  of 
speech-maker,  girls,"  she  said,  with  a  little  laugh ; 
"but  I  cannot  help  saying  what  has  been  in  my  heart 
to  say  all  day.  I  feel  assured  that  we  all  experience 
the  same  feeling  in  regard  to  our  leaving  the  dear  old 
place.  No  need  to  dwell  upon  that." 

She  stopped  and  wiped  the  tears  away  that  had 
gathered  on  her  lashes,  and  every  girl  there  might 


.MEG'S   TROUBLE.  249 

have  been  seen  doing  the  same  thing,  surreptitiously. 
Then  Ethel  went  on  : 

"Somehow  or  other,  I  feel  very  sad  indeed;  it  is 
not  wholly  on  account  of  leaving,  but  something  else 
which  I  cannot  explain.  I  have  a  strange  request  to 
make,  girls,  but  you  will  comply  with  it,  I  know.  It 
is  this  :  Let  us  all  gather  close  together,  and  clasp 
hands  in  a  circle,  and  promise  to  love  and  remember 
each  other  all  our  lives  long.  No  matter  how  far  we 
may  stray  apart  in  the  years  to  come,  our  hearts  will 
always  be  united ;  and  if  we  never  meet  again  on 
earth,  we  will  try  to  meet  each  other  in  Heaven, 
where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary 
are  at  rest." 

Silently  and  tearfully,  the  girls  gathered  around 
Ethel,  hand  clasping  hand,  and  while  they  sat  thus, 
Ethel  prayed  in  a  low  sweet  voice,  that  the  band  of 
sisterhood,  though  broken  on  earth,  might  be  united 
again  in  the  better  world.  Then  the  Class-Song  was 
sung,  in  low,  sweet,  girlish  voices,  and  the  last,  happy, 
careless  school-day  that  they  would  ever  know,  was  at 
an  end : 

CLASS-SONG. 

One  more  song,  and  then  we  sever, 

One  more  touch  of  hands  and  then 
We  must  part,  perhaps  forever, 

'Though  we  hope  to  meet  again* 


250  MGEDA. 


Life's  great  school  is  now  before  us 
'Though  our  training  here  may  end ; 

May  the  same  kind  love  be  o'er  us 
Wheresoe'er  our  ways  may  tend. 

Sweet  the  mem'ries  that  shall  linger 

'Round  this  dear,  familiar  place, 
Memories  of  song  and  singer, 

Thoughts  which  time  cannot  efface ; 
Faithful  friends  and  dear  companions, 

All  were  known  and  loved  so  well ; 
Now  has  come  the  hour  of  parting, 

We  must  bid  you  all  "  Farewell." 


COMMENCEMENT  DAT.  251 


XVIII. 

COMMENCEMENT  DAY. 

LAURIE  came  over  to  Meg's  house  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  eighteenth,  about  a  week  after  the 
events  recorded  in  our  last  chapter.  Meg  saw  her 
coming  up  the  street,  as  she  paused  in  her  dusting  to 
take  a  peep  out  of  the  window,  at  the  beauty  of  the 
June  morning,  .and  ran  out  of  the  house  and  down  the 
garden-path  to  meet  her. 

"I  can't  stop  but  a  few  minutes,  Meg,"  said 
Laurie,  as  Meg  opened  the  gate  for  her;  "I  promised 
to  be  back  by  ten  o'clock  to  make  some  '  velvet 
cream'  for  dinner,  and  you  know  what  a  job  that  is." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Meg,  dusting  the  floor  of  the 
vine-covered  piazza  with  her  duster,  and  motioning  for 
Laurie  to  take  a  seat ;  "it  takes  a  long  time  to  make 
it,  and  then  quite  a  while  for  it  to  cool.  But  isn't  it 
delicious  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  hope  mine  will  be  as  good  as  your  last  was. 


252  MEGDA. 


I  will  bring  some  up  so  we  can  have  it  when  we  get 
home  to-night." 

Laurie  took  her  pretty,  flower-trimmed  hat  off  and 
fanned  herself  with  it.  Meg  laughed  gayly. 

"Velvet-cream  and  sponge-cake  at  midnight!  Do 
you  suppose  we  shall  sleep  after  that  ? " 

Laurie  laughed  too  —  a  happy  laugh.  "What  a 
glorious  morning,  Meg ;  if  to-night  is  only  half  as 
pleasant !" 

"Oh,  it  will  be,"  said  Meg,  confidently.  "It  won't 
rain  to-day ;  the  sun  set  clear  last  night,  and  there  is 
a  moon,  too." 

"Well,  I  ran  up  to  see  if  everthing  was  all  right. 
What  time  are  you  going  ?  " 

"We  shall  go  at  about  half-past  one.  I  wish  you 
would  drive  in  with  us,  Laurie." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Laurie,  quickly.  "I  will  wait  for 
Hal." 

"  He  can  come  with  the  others,"  said  Meg,  just  to 
tease  her. 

"No,"  said  Laurie,  putting  her  lips  resolutely 
together,  and  blushing  a  pretty  pink;  "I  will  wait  for 
him  —  he  would  rather  I  would." 

"You  little  darling !  "  said  Meg,  and  gave  her  a  hug. 
"  But  it  is  too  bad  that  Hal  could  not  get  away  for 
just  a  few  hours  this  afternoon  ;  you  would  enjoy  the 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY.  253 

exercises  so  much.     Though   no   one  is  to  graduate 
that  we  are  acquainted  with." 

"  No,  so  I  do  not  care  so  much.  It  was  very  kind 
in  Mr.  Stanley  to  secure  so  many  tickets  for  us, 
wasn't  it  ? " 

"Yes,  very." 

They  talked  a  little  longer,  and  then  Laurie  said : 
"Well,  I  must  go.  You  will  be  at  the  depot  to  meet 
us  to-night?" 

"Yes,  at  half -past  seven." 

"All  right.     Good-by,  until  then." 

"Good-by." 

Laurie  went  down  the  street  walking  a  little  more 
slowly  than  when  she  came  up,  and  Meg  went  back 
into  the  house  to  finish  her  dusting. 

It  was  Commencement  Day  at  the  college  of  which 
Mr.  Stanley  was  a  graduate,  and  he  had  procured 
tickets  for  "our  girls"  and  their  gentlemen  friends. 
Will  and  Meg  were  going  to  the  afternoon  exercises 
with  Mr.  Stanley  and  Ethel.  They  were  to  drive  in 
Judge  Lawton's  handsome  carriage.  Hal  and  Laurie, 
Ed  and  Dell,  Bert  and  Lill,  Ray  and  Lulu,  Melvin 
and  May  were  all  going  in  on  the  evening  train  to  the 
Promenade  Concert,  and  the  others  were  to  meet 
them  at  the  depot  when  their  train  came  in.  A 
splendid  time  was  anticipated  by  all. 


254  MEGDA. 


Meg  had  felt  very  sorry  that  Ruth  had  not  been 
invited  to  go,  and  after  she  had  finished  her  dusting, 
she  took  off  her  big  apron,  put  on  her  shade  hat,  took 
her  parasol,  and  started  for  Ruth's. 

Ruth,  herself,  met  her  at  the  door,  and  asked  her 
in  with  her  usual  sweet  smile  of  welcome.  Ruth 
loved  Meg  very  dearly,  and  Meg  respected  and  loved 
Ruth. 

Ruth  was  about  to  lead  Meg  into  the  sitting-room, 
when  Meg  said:  "O,  let  us  sit  out  here,  Ruthie; 
your  kitchen  is  always  so  deliciously  cool.  Those 
vines  at  the  window  make  it  look  so  pretty  and  shady, 
too.  And  you  have  gotten  all  your  work  done  up, 
and  have  let  your  fire  go  out  so  soon ;  but  you  were 
always  a  smart  little  thing." 

Meg  went  rattling  on,  not  noticing  that  Ruth  had 
tried  several  times  to  speak,  and  that  her  cheeks 
were  quite  red. 

"I  came  to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you,  Ruth,"  Meg 
continued ;  "  I  want  you  to  go  with  us  this  afternoon. 
We  will  all  be  so  glad  if  you  will.  I'll  take  you 
under  my  wing,  though  I  think" —  Meg  stopped 
short  as  the  sound  of  a  man's  voice  came  from  the 
sitting-room.  She  looked  at  Ruth  inquiringly. 

"I  tried  to  tell  you,  Meg,"  whispered  Ruth,  for  the 
door  was  ajar,  "but  you  were  so  busy  talking  you  did 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY.  255 

not  notice.  Mother  is  sick,  and  is  at  home  to-day. 
Mr.  Stanley  called  to  see  her;  he  came  in  about  five 
minutes  before  you." 

Meg  looked  vexed. 

" Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Ruth,  "you  did  not  say 
anything  but  what  you  would  as  soon  he  would  hear. 
Let  us  go  in." 

Meg  shook  her  head  emphatically,  but  just  then  Mr. 
Stanley  said  —  as  if  he  mistrusted,  by  the  sudden 
silence  that  Meg  had  found  out  he  was  there  — 
"Good-morning,  Miss  Randal.  Don't  let  me  drive 
you  away." 

Meg  was  obliged  to  go  in  then,  but  she  felt  very 
much  like  a  child  that  had  been  coaxed  not  to  be 
afraid. 

Mrs.  Dean  was  lying  on  the  lounge.  She  looked 
very  ill.  Mr.  Stanley  sat  on  a  low  rocker  by  her  side. 
Meg  went  up  to  the  lounge  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  heard  your  kind  invitation  to  Ruthie,"  said  Mrs. 
Dean,  with  a  grateful  smile.  "  I  wish  you  might  pre- 
vail upon  her  to  go  with  you ;  it  would  do  her  good. 
Mr.  Stanley  has  been  trying  to  persuade  her." 

Meg  said,  "  Oh ! "  and  looked  at  him.  He  had 
gotten  ahead  of  her.  She  commenced  to  wish  she 
hadn't  come. 

Ruth  leaned  over  her  mother,  and  smoothed  back  a 


256  MEGDA. 


lock  of  hair  that  had  fallen  out  of  place.  "  I  shall  not 
leave  you,  mother,"  she  said,  with  gentle  determina- 
tion ;  and  Mrs.  Dean  kissed  the  loving  brown  hand. 

"We  shall  have  to  try  again,  Miss  Randal,"  said 
Mr.  Stanley,  easily.  "And  perhaps  we  shall  succeed 
better  next  time." 

Meg  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

"  In  our  little  attempt  at  giving  pleasure,  I  mean," 
he  said,  and  Meg  knew  that  he  understood  and  appre- 
ciated her  "motive". 

She  was  sorry  that  he  did  so ;  it  seemed  like  being 
praised  for  a  very  little  thing. 

Meg  waited,  hoping  that  Mr.  Stanley  would  go,  but 
as  he  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry,  she  rose  at  last,  and 
said : 

"  I  hope  you  will  feel  better  very  soon,  Mrs.  Dean. 
Don't  work  too  hard,  Ruthie ;  I'll  be  down  to-morrow 
afternoon,  and  tell  you  all  about  to-night." 

Mr.  Stanley  rose  at  the  same  time.  "I  think  I 
will  say  good-morning,  too,"  he  said.  "I  have  made 
quite  a  long  call,"  and  in  a  moment  or  two,  Meg 
found,  herself  walking  down  the  white,  dusty  street 
beside  him. 

They  talked  about  commonplace  things  all  the 
way  home,  and  Meg  was  very  glad  that  Mr.  Stanley 
did  not  question  her  about  uniting  with  the  Church ; 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY.  257 

she  was  afraid  he  might.  At  her  gate  he  said,  "  You 
will  be  ready  at  half -past  one  ? "  and  opened  the  gate 
for  her  to  pass  through. 

"Yes,  I  will  try  to  be,"  she  answered. 

He  raised  his  hat,  she  bowed  and  went  into  the 
house,  and  before  Mr.  Stanley  reached  the  corner  of 
the  street,  he  heard  her  beautiful  voice  through  the 
open  window  singing : 

"  My  God  and  Father,  while  I  stray 

Far  from  my  home  on  life's  rough  way, 
O,  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 
Thy  will  be  done." 

We  will  pass  over  the  events  of  the  afternoon,  and 
proceed  to  that  of  the  evening. 

Mr.  Stanley  had  conducted  his  guests  up  to  the 
room  that  had  formerly  been  his  while  a  student  at 
the  college.  He  had  ascertained  from  the  janitor 
that  it  had  been  unoccupied  for  the  last  three  weeks 
—  the  young  gentleman  having  been  obliged  to  go 
home  on  account  of  sickness  in  his  family,  and  Mr. 
Stanley  had  received  permission  from  the  president  to 
entertain  his  friends  in  it.  It  was  a  pleasant  room, 
with  two  large  windows  facing  the  front  campus.  Mr. 
Stanley  procured  camp-chairs' enough  for  all,  but  Meg 
and  May  declared  they  were  going  to  occupy  the  win- 
dow-seats. The  band-stand  was  just  far  enough  away 


258  MEGDA. 


for  the  music  to  sound  delightful,  and  the  electric  light 
flooded  the  room  with  its  soft,  moon-like  radiance. 
Hal,  Will,  Ed,  Melvin,  Bert  and  Ray  'had  brought 
candy,  grapes  and  nuts  enough  to  make  the  girls  ill 
for  a  month  afterward,  and  Mr.  Stanley  had  con- 
tributed a  can  of  iced  lemonade.  Withal,  they  were 
as  happy  a  party  as  ever  brightened  a  dim,  musty, 
dreary  old  college-room. 

The  girls  wore  their  graduating  dresses  —  soft,  white 
cashmeres,  and  a  bunch  of  the  class-flowers  —  white 
hyacinths.  Mr.  Stanley  thought,  as  he  looked  at  them, 
'^Surely  there  was  never  a  fairer  rose-garden  of  girls." 

Melvin  kept  them  in  a  perfect  gale  of  laughter  over 
the  most  miserable  little  puns  that  were  ever  invented. 
Then  his  and  Meg's  " tongue-fencing"  —  as  Meg  called 
it  —  delighted  them  all,  especially  Mr.  Stanley.  He 
sat  beside  Ethel,  attentive  to  her  slightest  wish,  but 
he  also  sat  where  he  could  watch  Meg's  fair,  sparkling 
face,  shining  pure  and  white  against  the  dark,  old 
wood  of  the  window-frame,  with  the  soft,  moonlike 
light  upon  it.  She  pleased  him ;  she  made  him  feel 
as  if  he  would  give  the  world,  if  he  had  it,  if  he 
could  have  just  such  a  sweet,  pure,  lovable  girl  for 
his  sister.  He  could  have  taken  her  to  his  heart, 
with  all  her  faults,  and  cherished  her  as  only  a  brother 
can  cherish  the  sister  he  loves. 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY.  259 

He  was  watching  her  when  the  band  commenced 
to  play  —  although  he  could  not  have  told  what  it  was 
—  "  Flowers  of  St.  Petersburg  Waltz."  The  moment 
that  the  first  notes  struck  the  air,  Meg  stopped  her 
gay  badinage  with  Melvin,  listened  for  a  moment  with 
parted  lips,  and  then,  all  unconscious  that  she  was 
being  watched,  laid  her  head  back  against  the  window- 
frame,  and  listened  with  dreamy  eyes,  and  a  happy, 
contented  smile  parting  her  red  lips. 

"  How  she  loves  that  kind  of  music,"  thought  Mr. 
Stanley,  still  watching  her. 

In  a  few  moments  he  saw  her  lift  her  white  hands 
a  little  from  her  lap,  and  commence  to  keep  time  with 
them,  slowly  and  unconsciously.  He  could  not  help 
smiling,  yet  he  sighed  at  the  same  time.  Then  he 
saw  the  little  foot  resting  on  the  floor,  commence  to 
go  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  in  perfect  time  with 
the  music ;  then  her  head  commenced  to  move  slowly 
backward  and  forward,  and  from  side  to  side,  and 
before  the  delicious  music  had  ceased,  Meg  was  per- 
forming quite  a  dance  on  her  own  account  in  the 
deep,  wide  window-seat.  Mr.  Stanley  found  it  hard 
work  to  keep  from  laughing  outright.  Her  utter 
unconsciousness  made  it  all  the  more  amusing. 

When  the  last  notes  died  lingeringly  away,  Meg 
heaved  a  soft  little  sigh,  and  thus,  suddenly  brought 


260  MEGDA. 


back  to  earth,  looked  with  frightened  eyes  around  her 
to  see  if  any  one  had  seen  her.  Mr.  Stanley  found  it 
convenient,  just  then,  to  offer  Ethel  a  glass  of  lemon- 
ade, and  the  rest  were  too  busily  engaged  to  have 
noticed  it,  so  Meg  leaned  back  in  her  comfort- 
able seat  again,  and  waited  breathlessly  for  the  next 
selection. 

What  a  perfectly  happy  evening  that  was  to  all ! 
An  evening  they  would  never  forget.  The  intervals 
between  the  "selections"  were  filled  up  with  light 
talk  and  happy  laughter.  Refreshments  were  passed 
around  with  startling  regularity,  and  if  one  dared  to 
refuse  them,  he  or  she  was  warned  that  they  would 
never  be  taken  to  the  Promenade  Concert  again  — 
meaning,  of  course,  the  one  who  refused  the  refresh- 
ments, not  the  refreshments  themselves. 

And  so  the  time  passed.  The  concert  closed  with 
a  beautiful  rendering  of  "Clayton's  Grand  March", 
with  variations  ;  there  was  a  general  move  of  the  prom- 
enaders  toward  the  great  iron  gates,  and  our  young 
people  gathered  up  their  wraps  and  "debris",  and 
with  many  lingering,  backward  glances,  passed  out  of 
the  room  they  had  made  cheerful  for  three  hours,  and 
made  their  way,  decorously,  to  the  depot. 

Laurie  was  to  stay  with  Meg  all  night.  After 
they  had  bidden  Hal  good-night  in  the  sitting-room, 


COMMENCEMENT  DAY.  261 

and  were  mounting  the  stairs  to  Meg's  room,  Meg 
looked  over  her  shoulder  at  Laurie  and  said,  gravely, 
"  Would  you  like  some  of  the  velvet-cream,  Laurie  ? " 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Meg,"  was  Laurie's  answer, 
accompanied  with  a  shiver  of  disgust. 

How  long  the  two  girls  would  have  lain  awake 
"  talking  over  things,"  I  do  not  know,  had  not  Hal, 
who  slept  up  stairs  that  night,  knocked  sharply  on 
their  wall,  and  called  out  in  beseeching  tones,  for  them 
to  have  some  mercy  on  him,  if  not  on  themselves. 
Conversation  then  ceased,  and  the  girls  bade  each 
other  good-night. 

As  Meg  turned  her  bright  head  on  her  pillow  and 
settled  herself  for  sleep  with  a  happy  smile  on  her 
fair  face,  she  little  thought  that  never  again  would 
the  bright  world  look  quite  the  same  to  her  as  it  did 
that  night.  Never  quite  the  same. 


262  MEGDA. 


XIX. 

A    CALL. 

ARTHUR  STANLEY  walked  up  the  broad,  grav- 
elled walk  that  led  to  the  front  entrance  of 
Judge  Lawton's  handsome  residence,  on  the  morning 
after  the  "  Promenade  Concert,"  went  up  the  marble 
steps,  and  pressed  the  electric  button.  A  colored  foot- 
man opened  the  door  and  upon  Mr.  Stanley's  inquiry 
if  "Judge  Lawton  were  at  home",  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  and  conducted  him  to  the  library. 

The  judge  was  seated  before  his  heavy  writing 
table.  He  rose  to  his  feet  as  Arthur  was  announced, 
and  went  forward  to  greet  him  with  a  pleasant  smile 
and  extended  hand.  Mr.  Stanley  proceeded  at  once 
to  business  in  a  most  manly,  straightforward  way 
which  greatly  pleased  if  greatly  surprised  the  judge. 
What  he  said  was  said  briefly  but  earnestly.  "  Judge 
Lawton,  I  love  your  daughter,  and  have  come  to  you 
to  ask  your  permission  to  tell  her  so,  and  to  ask  her 
to  be  my  wife." 


A    CALL.  263 


Such  a  request  from  a  young  man  to  a  parent  must 
always  have  a  more  or  less  startling  effect  on  the 
latter,  even  when,  as  in  Judge  Lawton's  case,  some- 
thing of  the  kind  had  been  rather  expected. 

Judge  Lawton  had  a  deep  respect  for  his  young 
pastor,  and  told  him  so.  He  was  his  ideal  of  what  a 
young  man  should  be;  but — Ethel  was  his  only 
child,  and  his  life's  idol.  He  told  Arthur  so,  and 
smiled  a  little  sadly,  as  the  young  man  said  eagerly : 

"Do  not  think  of 'it  in  the  light  of  losing  a  daugh- 
ter, Judge  Lawton,  but  of  gaining  a  son.  I  will  love 
her  and  cherish  her  while  life  shall  last." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  judge,  whose  stern  face 
was  wonderfully  softened.  "I  believe  you;  but  Ethel 
is  so  young  —  not  quite  twenty." 

"  I  will  not  take  her  from  you  until  you  are  per- 
fectly willing  to  have  her  go,"  said  Arthur,  tenderly. 

"That  would  never  be,  then,"  replied  the  father, 
with  a  smile.  "But  it  isn't  for  me  to  say,  but  for 
Ethel  herself.  Does  she  love  you?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  Do  you  think  she  does  ? " 

The  young  man's  cheek  flushed,  but  he  answered 
steadily,  "I  do  not  think  her  wholly  indifferent  to 
me." 

The  judge  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand.     "  Ethel 


264  MEGDA. 


is  in  the  garden.  Go  to  her  and  tell  her  what  you 
have  told  to  me,  and — my  best  wishes  for  your 
success." 

Arthur  grasped  the  extended  hand  in  both  of  his. 
"Thank  you,  sir;  and  may  God  deal  with  me  as  I 
do  with  her." 

"He  hastened  from  the  house,  and  went  through 
beautiful  shadowy  paths  to  the  place  where  he  knew 
from  past  experience,  he  should  find  her  —  a  rustic 
seat  underneath  the  branches  of  a  grand  old  oak. 

She  rose  to  meet  him  as  she  saw  him  coming,  and 
then  stood  still  before  the  great  light  on  his  face. 
How  fair  and  pure  and  womanly  she  looked  to  the 
young  man,  as  she  stood  there  in  her  white  dress, 
with  the  sunlight  flickering  through  the  branches  on 
her  sweet,  upturned  face,  and  in  her  truthful,  serious 
eyes. 

"The  very  pearl  of  womanhood,"  he  thought,  and 
went  straight  to  her  and  took  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"  I  love  you,  Ethel.  Will  you  be  my  wife?"  And 
Ethel  answered  simply  and  gravely,  with  the  lovely 
wild-rose  color  dyeing  her  white  cheek,  "  Yes,  Arthur, 

for  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart." 

****** 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Meg,  at  the  dinner-table  that 
day.  "  I  feel  so  —  so  "  — 


A    CALL.  265 


"I  pity  you,  my  dear,"  said  Hal,  gravely.  "I 
know  what  it  is  to  feel  that  way  myself.  A  disagree- 
able feeling,  isn't  it?" 

Meg  smiled,  too  spiritless  to  reply. 

"Aren't  you  feeling  well,  dear?"  inquired  Elsie 
anxiously. 

"Oh,  yes ;  that  is,  I  do  not  feel  sick,  only  so  "• 

"So,  so,"  interrupted  Hal.  "Well,  Girlie,  see  if 
that  will  make  you  feel  any  better,"  and  he  tossed  a 
dainty  cream  envelope  beside  her  empty  plate. 

Meg  picked  it  up  listlessly,  then  gave  a  little  cry  of 
delight.  "  From  Ethel !  Oh,  I  do  hope  she  will  want 
me  to  come  up  there  this  afternoon  —  I  feel  just  like 
it.  Where  did  you  get  it,  Hal  ?  " 

"  I  met  that  young  Jake  of  theirs  coming  to  the 
house  with  it,  and  saved  him  the  trouble  of  coming 
any  further." 

Meg  read  the  note,  and  looked  up,  smiling.  "Just 
what  I  had  hoped  for,"  she  said.  "  She  does  want  me 
to  come  up  this  afternoon  —  she  has  something  to  tell 
me,  about  last  night,  I  suppose,"  and  Meg  put  the 
note  back  into  the  envelope,  with  a  happy  face, 
and  handed  it  to  her  mother  to  read. 

"  But  you  know  you  promised  Ruth  you  would  go 
there  this  afternoon,"  said  Elsie  gently. 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  I  can  start  early,  Ethel's  dinner 


266  MEGDA. 


hour  is  two,  you  know ;  I  shan't  want  to  get  there 
until  half-past  three.  I  have  felt,  all  the  morning, 
just  as  if  something  were  going  to  happen,  but  I 
must  confess  I  felt  as  if  it  were  going  to  be  bad 
instead  of  good  news." 

At  two  o'clock,  Meg  started  for  Ruth's  house. 
She  wore  a  pale-blue  cheese-cloth  dress,  and  a  large 
black  hat  with  slightly  rolling  brim,  and  a  wreath  of 
yellow  daises  around  the  crown.  She  had  a  great 
sheaf  of  yellow  daises  over  her  left  shoulder.  A 
wide  band  of  black  velvet  was  around  her  white 
throat.  She  walked  slowly,  for  the  sun  was  hot.  As 
she  was  about  to  enter  the  gate  at  Ruth's  home,  Mr. 
Stanley  came  along.  He  stopped  to  speak  with  her. 

"How  do  you  feel  after  last  night's  dissipation?" 
he  asked,  with  his  hand  on  the  gate. 

"  Quite  well  —  considering,"  said  Meg  laughingly. 

"Considering  the  refreshments?"  he  added;  then 
he  went  on,  more  gravely,  "  You  are  faithful  to  your 
promise." 

«  Of  telling  Ruth  all  about  it  ?     Yes." 

"Remember  me  to  Mrs.  Dean  and  to  Miss 
Ruth,  please.  I  shall  try  to  see  them  some  time 
to-morrow." 

Meg  bowed  and  Mr.  Stanley  walked  on. 

"How  happy  he  looks,"  thought  Meg,  wondering  a 


A    CALL.  267 


little ;  then  she  went  up  the  path  and  knocked  at  the 
door. 

Ruth  opened  the  door,  and  Meg  stared  in  astonish- 
ment at  sight  of  the  radiant  eyes. 

"  Why,  Ruthie,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Has  somebody 
died,  and  left  you  all  their  money?"  she  asked,  as 
Ruth  threw  both  arms  around  her  neck,  and  fairly 
sobbed  for  joy. 

"  Oh,  Meg,  I  am  so  happy,  and  so  glad  that  you  are 
the  first  one  to  hear  of  it,  for  you  are  my  best  earthly 
friend,  Meg,"  and  the  excited  girl  hurried  Meg  into 
the  sitting-room  where  Mrs.  Dean  was,  and  forced  her 
gently  down  into  a  rocking-chair. 

Mrs.  Dean  was  calmer  than  her  daughter,  but  Meg 
could  see  that  she  was  feeling  wonderfully  happy  over 
something.  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  hi 
bewilderment.  Ruth  laughed  hysterically. 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  you,  dear,"   she  said;   then   she 
burst   out   again.     "Oh,   Meg,  what   do   you   think? 
Madam  de  Crando  has  been  here  this  morning,  and  — 
hired  me  for  next  year  as  assistant  to  Miss  White." 

Meg  put  out  both  hands.      "  Ruthie  !  " 

"  Yes,  Meg,  she  has.  I  am  to  teach  Rhetoric  and 
Language  in  the  very  school  where  I  studied  them. 
Doesn't  it  seem  strange  ?  And  oh,  Meg  !  "  (here  Ruth 
slipped  down  on  her  knees  before  Meg's  chair  and 


268  MEGDA. 


caught  the  white  hands  in  hers),  "it  is  you  whom  I 
have  to  thank  for  this  great  happiness ;  you,  next  to 
God." 

"  Me ! "  exclaimed  Meg. 

"Yes,  you;  my  best,  my  dearest  friend.  I  know 
all  about  the  affair  of  the  lost  essay ;  what  you  did  for 
me  —  and  oh,  everything,  Meg." 

"You  know  it  all?"  interrupted  Meg.  "How  did 
you  know  it  ? " 

"Laurie  told  me." 

"Then  Laurie  did  a  very  wrong  thing,"  cried  Meg 
indignantly ;  but  Ruth  stopped  her. 

"I  suspected  it,  Meg,  and  asked  Laurie  if  it  were 
not  so ;  I  knew  it  would  be  of  no  use  for  me  to  ask 
'proud  Meg',  for  she  would  give  me  no  satisfaction, 
and  so  I  asked  Laurie  and  insisted  on  her  telling  me." 

"But  what  had  that  to  do  with  madam's  kind- 
ness ? "  asked  Meg,  subdued  but  still  bewildered. 

Ruth  laughed  and  gave  the  hand  she  held  a  loving 
shake.  "Where  is  all  your  wisdom,  Meg?  Madam 
must  have  suspected  all  the  time  just  how  matters 
were,  but  she  did  not  want  to  create  a  disturbance, 
so  she  said  nothing  at  the  time,  but  waited  until  she 
could  make  it  up  to  me  in  her  own  way.  And  Meg,  I 
owe  it  to  you,  because  if  you  had  not  kept  silent  about 
it,  of  course  madam  would  have  known  who  the 


A    CALL.  269 


guilty  one  was.  It  would  have  made  her  feel  very 
badly,  and,  so  far  from  being  sorry  that  she  had 
accused  me  wrongfully,  she  might  have  felt  very 
bitterly  toward  me.  Don't  you  see  now,  you  dar- 
ling—  you  darling?"  and  Ruth  covered  the  white 
hands  with  kisses. 

"I  see  now,"  said  Meg  smiling.  "And  I  am  very 
glad  for  you,  Ruth.  But —  has  Maude  confessed  to 
her?" 

Ruth's  happy  face  grew  sad.  "No,"  she  answered. 
"But,  Meg,  I  hope  you  do  not  feel  bitter  toward  her 
now." 

"No,"  replied  Meg  humbly.  "It  isn't  for  me  to 
judge  her." 

Ruth  kissed  her  silently. 

A  happy  half-hour  passed,  and  then  Meg  left  them, 
her  heart  lighter  for  her  visit.  But  as  she  walked 
slowly  along,  she  could  not  help  questioning  madam's 
kindness.  Would  it  not  have  been  kinder  in  madam 
to  have  told  Ruth,  plainly,  her  motive  for  doing  as 
she  did  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  acting  more  honor- 
ably toward  Ruth  ?  Why  should  she  wish  to  spare 
Maude's  feelings?  She  had  not  considered  Ruth's  in 
the  least. 

"  I  am  very  much  afraid,"  thought  Meg,  as  she 
entered  Judge  Lawton's  beautiful  grounds,  "that,  if  I 


270  MEGDA, 


were  in  Ruth's  place,  I  should  be  tempted  to  decline 
madam's  offer  with  thanks,  and  tell  her  that  I  could 
not  think  of  entering  an  establishment  as  one  of  the 
faculty,  where  I  had  once  been  accused  by  its  precep- 
tress of  stealing.  But  it  is  a  grand  chance  for  Rutk ; 
I  could  almost  find  it  in  my  heart  to  envy  her  if  I 
were  not  so  very  glad  for  her.  And  Ruth  does  not 
look  on  things  as  I  do.  Why  is  it,  I  wonder  ?  I  think 
I  know.  Because  she  is  a  Christian,  and  I  am  not, 
though  I  am  trying  hard  to  be.  Jesus,  help  me,"  and 
with  this  prayer  on  her  lips,  Meg  looked  up  and  saw 
Ethel  coming  to  meet  her.  The  two  girls  linked 
arms,  and  commenced  a  slow  walk  up  and  down  the 
cool,  shadowy  garden -paths.  Then  Ethel  happened  to 
think  that  Meg  must  be  tired  after  her  long  walk. 

"  How  thoughtless   I    am,   Girlie ! "  she   said   con- 
tritely.    "  Here  I  am  walking  you  up  and  down,  and 
you  must  be  so  tired.     You  look  pale  to-day,  too  — 
paler  than  usual.     Aren't  you  feeling  well  ? " 

"Oh  yes,"  answered  Meg;  "perfectly  well,  only  I 
am  rather  tired." 

"  Of  course  you  are.  Come  right  up  to  my  room ; 
it  is  about  as  cool  there  as  it  is  out  here." 

"  I  am  always  tempted  to  break  the  Commandment 
whenever  I  enter  this  room,  Ethel,"  said  Meg,  as  she 
followed  Ethel  into  her  exquisite  little  boudoir. 


A    CALL.  271 


Ethel  laughed,  took  Meg's  hat,  and  placed  her  in 
the  easiest  chair  the  room  afforded  —  a  low,  deep,  wil- 
low rocker. 

Meg  heaved  a  sigh  of  deep  content  as  she  leaned 
back  and  looked  around  her.  She  had  been  in  that 
room  many  times  before;  had  stayed  all  night  with 
Ethel  on  several  occasions ;  but  its  beauty  was  ever 
new  to  her,  and  ever  appealed  to  her  keen  sense  of 
refinement,  taste  and  comfort.  And  no  wonder,  for  it 
was  a  perfect  little  gem  of  a  room. 

It  was  all  white  —  the  paper  on  the  walls,  the  car- 
pet on  the  floor,  the  drapery  at  the  windows,  the 
coverings  of  the  easy-chairs.  From  where  Meg  sat, 
she  could  look  through  into  a  large,  airy,  beautifully- 
furnished  bed-chamber,  also  furnished  and  decorated 
in  white.  The  pure  whiteness  was  relieved  in  the 
boudoir  by  trailing  vines  of  the  delicate-green  English 
ivy.  In  the  wide,  deep  window  which  projected  out 
from  the  walk  until  it  might  almost  be  called  a  bow- 
window,  Ethel  had  placed  large  pots  of  ferns  and 
potted  plants,  with  myrtle  and  ivy,  until  it  looked  like 
a  veritable  green  bower.  In  the  corners  of  the  room 
were  large  pots,  out  of  which ,  more  ivy  grew,  •  and 
clung  with  its  delicate  fingers  all  over  the  walls,  and 
had  even  commenced  to  cover  the  ceiling.  White 
marble  busts  of  Shakespeare,  Dickens,  Hawthorne 


272  MEGDA. 


and  Irving  glistened  through  the  trailing  ivy,  from  the 
various  corners. 

"I  might  almost  imagine  myself  in  a  grotto," 
thought  Meg,  bringing  her  eyes  from  their  admiring 
survey  of  the  room,  to  Ethel,  who  was  watching  her 
with  a  happy  smile  on  her  lips. 

Meg  could  not  help  thinking,  as  she  looked  at 
Ethel,  how  perfectly  she  accorded  with  the  room,  with 
her  white  dress,  fair  face  and  golden  hair.  She  was 
about  to  express  her  thoughts  in  words,  when,  to  her 
surprise,  Ethel  left  her  chair,  and  came  to  her,  kneel- 
ing on  the  floor  at  her  side,  and  wrapping  both  arms 
around  her. 

Now,  I  had  no  idea  of  writing  a  love-story  when  I 
began,  nor  have*  I  any  idea  of  making  it  into  one 
now;  I  am  giving  the  facts  of  the  case,  and  no  more. 
If  I  put  more  sentiment  than  wisdom  in  it,  pardon 
me ;  it  is  the  fault  of  the  age  we  live  in.  Yet  a  little 
sentiment  now  and  then,  has  never  been  known  to 
hurt  anybody ;  it  is  only  when  it  is  carried  to  extreme 
that  it  is  objectionable,  and  then  —  it  but  verifies  the 
old  adage — "Extremes  are  dangerous." 

"Meg,"  said  Ethel  in  a  low  voice,  "I  believe  I 
am  the  happiest  girl  in  all  the  world."  And  then  she 
told  her,  softly  and  tenderly  and  reverently,  as  if  she 
were  speaking  of  something  sacred,  of  what  Arthur 


A    CALL.  273 


had  said  to  her  that  morning  under  the  spreading 
branches  of  the  old  oak ;  and  Meg  listened  with 
a  slowly  whitening  face,  and  a  great  pain  gradually 
creeping  into  her  heart  But  Ethel  had  her  head  on 
Meg's  shoulder,  so  her  face  was  turned  from  hers. 

"And  see,  Girlie/'  said  Ethel  at  last,  "he  has 
given  me  his  mother's  ring.  He  has  neither  father 
or  mother,  you  know." 

"No,  I  did  not  know,"  said  Meg,  and  she  took 
Ethel's  hand  in  hers,  and  looked  long  and  wistfully  at 
the  pretty  gold  band  with  its  one  pure-white  pearl. 

"I  hope  you  may  be  very  happy,  Ethel,"  said  Meg, 
and  kissed  her. 

Ethel  had  ordered  a  dainty  luncheon  to  be  served 
in  the  breakfast-room  for  herself  and  Meg.  Meg  sat 
down  to  it,  and  laughed  and  talked  and  ate,  hardly 
knowing  what  she  did.  After  that,  they  went  for  a 
quiet  stroll  in  the  garden,  and  at  half-past  five,  Ethel 
had  the  dog-cart  brought  around  to  the  door,  and, 
despite  Meg's  assurance  that  she  would  just  as  soon 
walk,  ordered  her  into  it,  got  in  herself,  and  they  were 
soon  rolling  along  the  road  toward  Meg's  home. 

When  about  half  the  distance  had  been  accom- 
plished, a  stylish  phaeton  drawn  by  a  span  of  pranc- 
ing bays,  passed  them.  Maude  Leonard  and  a  young 
gentleman  were  seated  in  it.  Maud  looked  very  hand- 


274  MEGDA. 


some  and  stylish,  but  her  bow  of  recognition  was  too 
full  of  haughty  condescension  to  suit  Meg;  she  barely 
returned  it.  The  gentleman  with  Maude  was  fault- 
lessly dressed,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  lifted  his 
hat  was  perfection  itself;  but  there  was  a  dissipated 
look  about  his  handsome  face  that  neither  girl  liked. 
As  Dell  had  said,  "his  eyes  were  red  and  his  skin 
flabby." 

"Mr.  Augustus  Belmont,"  observed  Meg,  slightly 
scornful. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ethel;  "I  was  so  full  of  my  own 
happiness  that  I  did  not  think  to  tell  you  of  Maude's. 
Her  mother  called  at  our  house  yesterday  afternoon, 
and  told  mother  that  Maude  and  Mr.  Belmont  were 
engaged.  The  wedding  is  set  for  some  time  in 
October." 

"  I  hope  she  may  be  happy,"  said  Meg  carelessly. 

"  I  pray  that  she  may,"  said  Ethel  fervently. 

When  Meg  entered  the  sitting-room  at  home, 
Laurie  sprang  from  behind  the  door  with  a  little 
scream.  Meg  laughed. 

"  Laurie  Ray,  I  am  surprised !  A  young  lady 
of  nineteen  years,  almost  twenty,  having  such  childish 
actions ! " 

"  Oh,  well,  Meg,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you ;  I  have 
been  waiting  here  one  mortal  hour." 


A    CALL.  275 


"That  is  too  bad." 

Then  Meg  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  Laurie,  as 
she  went  into  the  hall  to  hang  her  hat  up,  and  said, 
lightly,  "  Have  you  come  to  tell  me  that  you  are 
engaged?" 

The  look  of  astonishment  on  Laurie's  pretty  face  at 
such  a  question,  was  so  comical  that  Meg  laughed 
until  the  tears  came. 

"Don't  look  so  stunned,  Laurie,"  she  said,  seating 
herself  in  a  chair.  "  I  didn't  know  but  you  had. 
Engagements  seem  to  be  the  order  of  the  day." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Laurie  slowly. 

"Oh,"  replied  Meg,  rocking  herself  carelessly  and 
smoothing  down  the  ruffles  of  her  dress.  "I  have 
heard  of  two  this  afternoon.  And  they  are  of  two 
of  our  class-mates,  too,  Laurie.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

If  Meg  had  looked  at  Laurie,  she  would  have  been 
surprised  at  the  look  of  actual  terror  on  her  face. 

"Who  are  they,  Meg?" 

"Guess." 

"I  — I  can't." 

"Well,  Maude  is  one.  You  are  not  surprised  at 
that?" 

"No.  But,  the  other?"  Laurie  asked  the  ques- 
tion in  almost  a  whisper. 


276  MEGDA. 


"Ethel  and  Mr.  Stanley." 

Laurie  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  low  cry.  "  Oh,  no, 
Meg,  not  that ;  don't  say  that ! "  she  cried,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

Meg  rose  slowly  to  her  feet  and  looked  at  her.  The 
look  dried  Laurie's  tears  at  once.  Meg's  face  was 
white  to  the  lips,  but  full  of  haughty  displeasure,  and 
cold,  forbidding  pride.  Just  a  moment  she  stood  there, 
tall  and  straight,  and  looked  at  Laurie,  then  she  sat 
down  in  her  chair  again,  and  said,  easily : 

"Yes,  Ethel  and  Mr.  Stanley  are  engaged,  and  I 
have  never  seen  a  girl  so  happy." 

Laurie,  almost  frightened  out  of  her  wits  at  what 
she  had  said  and  done,  answered  humbly,  "  I  am  glad 
she  is  happy." 

"So  am  I,"  replied  Meg.  "I  am  glad  for  her  with 
all  my  heart." 

But  even  when  she  said  it,  and  afterward,  when 
Laurie  appeared  to  be  ashamed  of  her  little  outburst, 
as  though  she  realized  that  she  had  made  a  great  mis- 
take in  supposing  that  Meg  was  hurt  in  any  way  by 
Ethel's  happiness,  her  proud  heart  cried  out  in  an 
agony  of  pain  and  humiliation  at  the  thought  that  any 
one,  especially  little,  childish  Laurie,  should  dare  to 
think  she  needed  pity. 

And  all  the  time  Meg  knew  that  she  did. 


A    VISIT.  277 


XX. 

A   VISIT. 

MEG,  Dell  and  Laurie  were  seated  in  Mrs.  Ran- 
dal's sitting-room,  in  earnest  discussion.  Meg 
had  the  chair  of  state,  the  large,  old-fashioned,  softly- 
cushioned  "rocker".  Dell  sat  very  upright  in  a 
straight-backed  chair.  Laurie,  as  usual,  on  an  otto- 
man, .  but  so  excited  was  she  over  what  they  were 
talking  about,  that  half  the  time  she  was  on  the  floor. 

One  whole  hour  they  sat  there,  and  when  Dell  and 
Laurie  at  last  rose  to  go,  Meg  followed  them  out  of 
the  house,  and  even  half  way  down  the  shady  walk ; 
and  when  she  left  them  it  was  with  the  impressive 
words  :  «  Remember,  Saturday  morning  at  ten  minutes 
past  eight  —  rain  or  shine.  Sure ! " 

"  Sure,"  repeated  both  the  girls,  as  impressively. 

This  was  on  Wednesday  afternoon.  On  Saturday 
morning,  at  eight  o'clock,  precisely,  a  gurney  drove 
up  to  Mrs.  Randal's  door.  It  was  raining,  probably 
as  hard  as  it  ever  had  rained,  and  looked,  as  Meg  said 
rather  petulantly,  as  if  it  might  rain  forever  and  the 


278  MEGDA. 


day  afterward.  But  for  all  that  she  was  dressed  for 
traveling,  and  waiting  when  the  gurney  stopped  at 
the  gate.  Her  trunk  was  taken  out  by  Hal  and  the 
driver,  and  strapped  in  its  place.  Then  Meg,  closely 
attended  by  mother  and  sister,  stepped  out  upon  the 
piazza. 

Meg  wore  a  plain,  tight-fitting  flannel  dress  —  the 
lovliest  shade  of  gray.  A  peasant  cape  of  the  same 
color,  and  a  pretty  shirred  tennis  cap.  She  wore  a 
small  white  vail  over  her  face,  and  had  her  gossamer 
on  her  arm. 

"Put  your  gossamer  on,  Girlie,"  said  Hal,  clearing 
the  space  from  the  gate  to  the  piazza,  in  about  two 
steps. 

He  took  it  from  her  arm  and  wrapped  it,  with 
loving  care,  about  her.  Then  he  took  her  reticule, 
opened  his  umbrella,  and  escorted  her  to  the  gurney 
—  lifted  her  in  and  sprang  in  after  her.  In  another 
moment,  mother  and  sister  were  straining  their  eyes 
to  catch  a  last  glimpse  of  the  gurney,  as  it  was  fast 
disappearing  from  their  sight  in  a  mist  of  driving  rain. 

"What  a  long  week  it  will  be ! "  sighed  the  mother. 

"Dreadfully  long,"  echoed  the  sister. 

****** 

"  Oh  Meg,  you  darling  !  I  knew  you  would  come, 
but  I  was  so  afraid  you  wouldn't." 


A    VISIT.  279 


Hal  laughed  outright,  and  several  people  standing 
near,  smiled  " openly"  in  spite  of  themselves,  as 
Laurie  gave  expression  to  her  joy,  fear  and  relief,  in 
this  rather  contradictory  manner.  Meg  laughed  and 
returned  the  kiss  heartily.  "  Let  us  be  thankful  that 
madam  is  not  present,  Laurie.  Dell,  you  look  most 
provokingly  calm  and  undisturbed.  Doesn't  this 
storm  effect  you  in  the  least  ? " 

"Well,  yes,  I  can't  deny  that  it  does,"  replied  Dell, 
who  always  told  the  strict  truth  even  on  the  smallest 
occasion.  "I  always  did  dislike  wearing  a  gossamer 
—  they  wet  the  ankles  so;  but  that  is  all  that  I  com- 
plain of.  We  shan't  be  out  in  it  much." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Meg,  "but  it  is  too  bad  it  isn't 
pleasant;  it  will  be  so  dull  on  the  boat." 

"Haven't  you  brought  your  book?"  asked  Laurie. 
"I  have,  and  so  has  Dell." 

"Yes,"  answered  Meg;  "I  have  brought  'John 
Ward,  Preacher.'  What  have  you?" 

"I  have  'Ester  Ried'." 

"And  you,  Dell?" 

"Oh,  I  have  'Johnstown  Horrors/  I  had  not 
decided  what  book  to  take  until  this  morning,  and 
then  the  weather  decided  for  me.  Quite  appropriate, 
isn't  it  ?  Didn't  know  but  we  might  have  a  flood 
before  it  got  through." 


280  MEGDA. 


Both  girls  laughed  at  Dell's  choice  and  her  reason 
for  making  such  an  one.  Then  Hal,  who  had  gone  to 
buy  Meg's  ticket  and  get  her  trunk  checked,  came  up 
and  asked  them  what  they  were  laughing  at. 

"Dell  is  in  a  watery  frame  of  mind,"  said  Meg. 
"She  thinks  there  is  nothing  like  adaptability." 

"She  is  referring  to  my  choice,"  explained  Dell, 
holding  up  her  book  for  Hal  to  read  its  title.  "  Do 
you  not  think  it  an  appropriate  one  ? " 

"Very.  Have  you  seen  hers?"-  — and  Hal  took 
Meg's  book  from  under  her  arm  and  held  it  gravely 
up.  "'John  Ward,  Preacher.'  She  is  in  a  theological 
frame  of  mind  which  is  almost  as  bad  as  that  of  which 
she  accuses  you.  I  do  not  know  but  the  book  may 
change  her  religious  views  entirely.  She  may  come 
back  to  us  a  thorough  Presbyterian." 

"Never,"  said  Meg  firmly.  "Their  creed  is  too  — 
too"  — 

"Are  you  quoting  Oscar  to  us?"  inquired  Hal 
severely. 

"I  can't  find  words  to  express  my  opinion  of  it," 
finished  Meg,  not  heeding  the  interruption. 

"Then  don't  try,"  said  Dell  dryly.  "You  ought 
not  to  allow  yourself  to  read  such  books,  Meg." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  they  do  you  no  good.     It  is  no  matter  if 


A    VISIT.  281 


you  do  not  understand  the  different  beliefs ;  what  do 
they  amount  to  ?  There  is  but  one  Bible ;  take  that 
for  your  guide  and  be  satisfied.  What  do  you  care 
for  different  people's  different  opinions?  Reading 
them  up  is  only  liable  to  throw  you  into  a  very  unde- 
cided and  dissatisfied  frame  of  mind,  which  is  much 
worse  than  a  'watery'  one,  I  assure  you." 

"For  when  you  are  in  the  latter,  you  are  supposed 
to  be  all  right,"  laughed  Meg.  "Oh,  Dell,  you  have 
any  amount  of  logic,  but  it  is  all  as  dry  as  saw-dust." 

"It  is  very  good  logic,"  said  Hal  seriously;  "the 
very  best  kind  —  good,  common-sense." 

Just  then  the  whistle  sounded,  and  the  girls  had 
barely  time  to  gather  up  their  "traps"  before  the 
train  steamed  into  the  station.  Hal  kissed  Meg  ten- 
derly, and  said,  "  Be  a  good  girl,  and  don't  forget  the 
postal".  Then  he  shook  hands  with  Dell,  and  tben 
fell  behind  with  Laurie  to  say  his  good-by  to  her  in  a 
low  tone. 

Meg  and  Dell  hurried  out  together,  good  girls  as 
they  were,  but  Hal  was  beside  them  to  help  them 
into  the  car,  and  when  the  "ail-aboard"  was  shouted, 
and  the  train  moved  slowly  at  first,  then  faster  and 
faster,  he  stood  on  the  platform  and  watched  it  out  of 
sight. 

For  the  first  half-hour  the  girls  talked  and  laughed 


282  MEGBA. 


very  quietly  together,  but  after  that  they  settled  back 
in  their  seats,  opened  their  books  and  began  to  read. 
Meg  and  Laurie  found  theirs  very  interesting,  and 
were  very  soon  oblivious  to  everything  and  everybody 
about  them.  Dell's  eyes  were  constantly  wandering 
here,  there  and  everywhere.  Now  she  would  look 
dreamily  out  of  the  window  at  the  gray,  misty,  rain- 
drenched  country  through  which  they  were  passing, 
an  inclination  probably  derived  from  the  sight  of  the 
book  she  held  open  before  her,  and  then  she  would 
allow  her  eyes  to  wander  carelessly  around  her  at  her 
fellow-passengers. 

During  one  of  these  "eye  excursions"  a  young 
gentleman,  sitting  two  or  three  seats  in  front  of  her 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  car,  happened  to  look  up 
from  the  paper  he  was  reading,  just  as  Dell  was  look- 
ing at  him.  She  was  looking  at  him,  and  still  not 
looking  at  him  ;  that  is,  she  was  looking  at  him  with- 
out seeing  him,  for  she  was  thinking  deeply  of  some- 
thing that  had  happened  at  home  that  morning  before 
she  left,  and  as  she  thought  a  smile  curved  her  lips. 
The  young  man  returned  the  look  with  interest.  He 
had  never  before  beheld  such  a  beautiful  face.  She 
did  not  seem  to  resent  his  admiring  gaze,  but  on  the 
contrary,  judging  from  her  continued  stare,  appeared 
to  like  and  encourage  it.  He  laid  aside  his  paper  and 


A    VISIT.  283 


proceeded  at  once  to  " business".  Poor,  unconscious 
Dell  was  literally  miles  away.  The  young  gentle- 
man (?)  assumed  his  most  fascinating  (?)  manner;  he 
leaned  back  in  his  seat  easily  and  gracefully,  and 
allowed  a  smile,  half  pensive,  half  amused,  to  steal  over 
his  countenance.  Presently  he  took  courage  to  raise 
his  hat,  hardly  decided  as  to  how  the  young  lady  would 
take  that.  Eureka !  She  smiled !  Alas,  it  was  to 
her  father  that  the  smile  was  really  given.  Without 
more  ado,  the  young  gent  rose  from  his  seat  and 
skipped  jauntily  up  the  aisle.  Her  focus  being  thus 
abruptly  removed,  Dell  came  to  herself  with  a  little 
start.  She  looked  up,  surprised,  to  see  a  strange 
young  man  partly  leaning  over  the  arm  of  her  seat, 
with  a  smile  on  his  face.  The  look  of  surprise  was  so 
genuine,  that  the  young  man  paused,  hardly  knowing 
what  to  do.  The  smile  faded,  and  he  looked  —  alas 
for  him  !  downright  foolish. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered  at  last,  "but, 
did  —  did — I  thought  —  did  you  not  wish  me  to  sit 
beside  you  ? " 

Dell  stared  at  him.  But  Dell  was  not  entirely 
ignorant  of  some  of  the  follies  of  the  age,  if  she  had 
lived  out  of  the  city  all  her  life.  She  determined  to 
give  the  young* man  a  little  lesson. 

"Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  the  seat  you 


284  MEGDA. 


have  just  left?"  she  asked  curiously,  as  if  really  think- 
ing there  might  be. 

He  smiled  a  sickly  smile  as  if  to  say,  "Oh,  of 
course  you  are  only  joking." 

"Is  there?"  repeated  Dell,  with  the  manner  of  one 
who  meant  just  what  she  says. 

"  No —  no  —  not  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"Then  I  advise  you  to  go  back  to  it,"  she  said, 
calmly ;  and  resumed  her  reading  without  so  much  as 
a  flicker  of  a  smile. 

Down  went  Meg's  head  into  her  own  book,  and  she 
laughed  until  the  tears  came ;  she  could  not  help  it. 
Laurie  tried  hard  not  to  laugh,  but  it  was  too  much. 
As  for  the  young  man  —  the  way  in  which  he  went 
out  of  that  car,  and  made  his  way  to  the  "smoker", 
was  a  caution.  Dell  put  the  "  finishing  touch  "  to  it 
all,  by  saying  —  when  the  young  man  had  disappeared 
-"Time  for  refreshments,"  and  gravely  fished  out 
from  some  hidden  region  a  bag  of  brambles. 

When  Meg  and  Laurie  had  gotten  over  their  laugh- 
ing, they  commended  Dell  most  highly  on  her  "man- 
ner of  treatment".  "It  is  just  what  he  deserved," 
said  Meg  indignantly,  but  always  careful  to  speak  in 
a  low  tone.  "  I  never  heard  of  such  impudence. 
Perhaps  he  will  riot  be  quite  so  eager  to  indulge  in 
such  unpardonable  conduct  at  another  time.  I  only 


A    VISIT.  285 


wish  all  such  '  upstarts '  would  meet  with  like  treat- 
ment in  like  instances." 

At  New  Bedford  they  took  the  steamer  for  Cottage 
City.  The  rain  still  came  down  in  torrents,  but  they 
pinned  their  dresses  up  underneath  their  gossamers, 
took  their  reticules  under  their  arms,  raised  their 
umbrellas,  and  hurried  as  fast  as  they  could  in  the  lit- 
tle way  they  had  to  go. 

I  shalLnot  say  anything  of  the  "sail  down",  for 
after  two  or  three  ineffectual  attempts  to  sit  on  deck 
under  the  awning,  and  view  the  scenery,  our  girls 
made  their  way  to  the  saloon,  settled  themselves  in 
easy-chairs,  and  gave  themselves  up  to  the  only 
pleasure  that  presented  itself  —  reading  —  while  the 
rain  came  pouring  down,  wrapping  earth  and  sky  in  a 
thick,  gray  cloud. 

At  half-past  two  they  reached  Cottage  City,  the 
boat  being  over  an  hour  late.  The  rain  had  ceased  to 
a  considerable  extent,  but  it  was  foggy,  cold  and  most 
disagreeably  damp. 

"  Not  much  like  the  second  of  August,"  said  Meg, 
as  they  made  their  way  through  the  pushing,  strug- 
gling crowd  to  a  "son  of  the  South,"  who  was  pro- 
claiming in  stentorian  tones  "  that  he  carried  luggage 
to  all  parts  of  the  city." 

"He  may  as  well  carry  ours  then,"  said  Dell. 


286  MEGDA. 


The  girls  decided  to  walk  to  the  cottage  at  which 
they  were  to  stop.  A  fifteen-minutes'  walk  brought 
them  to  it.  It  was  a  pretty  white  cottage  situated  on 
the  corner  of  Trinity  Park  and  Montgomery  Square. 
Right  opposite  the  front  entrance  was  the  Methodist 
Tabernacle.  Around  the  corner  and  about  two  min- 
utes' walk,  was  the  Casino,  in  which  were  the  Post- 
Office  and  free  library.  But  what  the  girls  rejoiced 
in  most,  was  what  they  called  "the  little  green  pump". 
Never  had  water  tasted  so  deliciously  pure  and  cool. 
They  were  soon  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with  "the 
little  green  pump".  Three  times  every  day,  and  often 
four  and  five,  the  three  girls  might  be  seen  walking, 
arm  in  arm,  in  the  direction  of  their  invaluable 
friend. 

The  cottage  was  owned  and  let  by  a  superannuated 
preacher  and  his  wife  —  Rev.  and  Mrs.  -  — ,  of  Cam- 
bridge —  and  the  people  stopping  there  were  all  pleas- 
ant, educated  and  refined ;  though  our  girls  saw  little 
of  them,  as  they  spent  the  evening  in  their  own 
rooms.  On  the  front  and  back  of  the  house  were 
wide  piazzas,  and  it  was  on  them  that  the  girls  passed 
some  of  their  pleasantest  hours.  The  street  cars 
passed  the  front  of  the  house,  and  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  foot-passing.  The  electric  lights  on  the  Tab- 
ernacle grounds  shone  through  the  branches  of  the 


A    VISIT.  287 


large  trees,  and  lighted  the  front  piazza,  and  the  girls' 
room,  which  opened  out  on  a  balcony  facing  the  park 
in  which  the  Tabernacle  was  situated,  with  its  beauti- 
ful, soft,  moon-like  radiance.  Withal,  it  was  a  most 
beautiful  place,  and  our  girls  daily  and  hourly  con- 
gratulated themselves  on  their  good  fortune  in  pro- 
curing such  a  desirable  situation.  Their  meals  they 
procured  at  the  "B —  -  House,"  which  was  situated 
immediately  back  of  the  cottage. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  "night  of  arrival".  The 
girls  were  glad  enough  when  they  found  themselves 
in  their  pleasant,  comfortable  room.  I  am  not  going 
to  enter  into  details  in  the  least,  so  I  shall  say  noth- 
ing of  how  the  room  was  furnished,  except  that  there 
were  two  beds  in  it,  and  the  question  as  to  who 
should  occupy  one  bed  alone,  was  at  once  brought  up, 
discussed  and  decided  upon  in  this  wise :  they  would 
"  take  turns  ".  So  far  so  good. 

The  time  between  three  o'clock  and  five  was  given 
to  the  transferring  of  dresses,  etc.,  from  their  trunks 
to  the  two  clothes-presses  in  which  the  room  rejoiced, 
putting  the  bottles  of  camphor,  glycerine,  bay-rum, 
eau  de  cologne,  vaseline,  etc.,  etc.,  on  the  wash-stand 
and  toilet-table.  Then  Meg  threw  herself  down  on 
the  bed  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I'll  sleep  in  this  bed  to-night,  girls,"  she  said. 


288  MEGDA. 


"So  please  do  not  make  any  objections  to  my  tossing 
about  on  it  as  much  as  I  please." 

"We  have  no  objections,"  replied  Dell,  coolly  pos- 
sessing herself  of  the  other.  "Come  up  here,  Lau- 
rie, and  get  rested." 

So  Laurie  accordingly  "came  up". 

"  Let  us  map  out  a  plan  of  action  for  our  week  of 
pleasure,"  suggested  Meg,  "beginning  with  to-mor-. 
row  morning." 

"  Map  out  all  the  plans  of  action  you  please,"  said 
Dell,  closing  her  eyes ;  "  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

"  You  lazy  thing !  "  exclaimed  Meg,  throwing  a  pil- 
low at  her,  and  hitting  the  foot-board.  "If  we  don't 
plan  to  suit  you,  don't  complain." 

"No,"  murmured  Dell,  already  half  asleep;  "any- 
thing will  be  agreeable  to  me." 

To  give  the  "plan  of  action"  as  it  was  really  car- 
ried out :  Every  morning  they  arose  at  sunrise  and 
took  a  long,  pleasant  walk  along  the  shore.  When 
they  came  back  Meg  and  Dell  went  immediately  to 
breakfast ;  Laurie  went  to  morning  prayers  at  the 
church  near  by.  Meg  and  Dell  loitered  over  their 
breakfast  that  Laurie  might  get  back  from  prayers 
before  they  finished.  Two  or  three  times  during  the 
week  they  accompanied  Laurie.  After  breakfast  they 
made  their  beds,  set  their  room  in  order,  took  their 


A    VISIT.  289 


books  or  crocheting  and  sat  out  on  the  front  piazza.. 
Sometimes  they  went  to  the  beach  and  watched  the 
bathers,  but  never  indulged  in  that  pastime  them- 
selves. At  one  they  went  to  dinner,  came  home  and 
had  their  siesta,  as  Meg  called  it.  Between  three  and 
four  o'clock  they  took  a  promenade,  sometimes  in 
one  place,  and  sometimes  in  another.  Toward  sunset 
they  strolled  along  the  beach  again.  Between  six 
and  seven  o'clock  they  went  to  supper,  and  after  that, 
every  night,  to  the  band  concert.  At  ten  they  went 
to  bed,  and  slept  soundly  all  night. 

Meg  was  changed.  Dell  did  not  notice  it,  but 
Laurie's  loving,  watchful  eyes  saw  it,  and  she  grieved 
in  secret  over  it.  Meg  was  restless  and  had  spas- 
modic fits  of  gaiety  followed  by  one  of  deep  depres- 
sion. At  times  she  would  keep  Dell  and  Laurie  in  a 
perfect  gale  of  laughter  half  an  hour  at  a  time ;  then, 
when  she  thought  herself  unobserved,  she  would  sit 
quietly  by  herself,  looking  before  her  with  sad,  wist- 
ful, dreamy  eyes,  until,  suddenly  thinking  her  silence 
might  be  noticed,  she  would  give  expression  to  some 
ludicrous  thought,  and  jump  up  and  catch  one  of  them 
around  the  waist,  and  waltz  her  madly  around  the 
room. 

Thursday  morning  as  they  were  sitting  out  on  the 
front  piazza,  reading,  a  party  of  bicycle-riders  passed 


290  MEGDA. 


the  cottage.  The  girls  looked  up  from  their  books, 
and  watched  them  absently.  There  were  about  a 
dozen  of  them,  and  they  presented  quite  a  gay  appear- 
ance in  their  gray  bicycle  suits  and  bright-red  sashes. 

One  of  the  riders  said  something  to  the  one  beside 
him  in  a  low  tone.  The  one  addressed  turned  his 
eyes  toward  the  cottage  where  our  girls  were.  The 
look  of  careless  indifference  gave  place  to  one  of 
pleased  surprise,  and  murmuring  a  word  or  two  of 
apology  to  his  astonished  companion,  he  wheeled  his 
bicycle  sharply  around,  and  rode  up  to  the  gate. 

Exclamations  of  a  very  complimentary  nature 
escaped  our  three  girls,  as  they  recognized  him,  and 
hastened  down  the  walk  to  meet  him.  "Why,  Mr. 
Blanding,  is  it  possible!"  "Why,  Mr.  Blanding,  how 
came  you  here?"  "Why,  Mr.  Blanding,  how  glad  we 
are  to  see  you!"  And  Mr.  Blanding  laughed,  as  he 
raised  his  cap  and  shook  hands  with  the  girls,  as  if  he 
were  very  glad  to  be  there. 

"  I  came  down  with  the  Club  of  which  I  am  a  mem- 
ber," he  explained.  "Did  not  get  here  until  last 
night.  We  rode  our  machines  as  far  as  New  Bedford, 
and  then  took  the  boat.  Where  were  you  last 
evening?" 

"We  were  at  the  concert,"  answered  Dell;  while 
Meg  offered  him  a  chair  on  the  piazza. 


A    VISIT.  291 


"Were  you?"  he  said,  as  he  took  his  seat.  "I-  did 
not  see  you.  I  was  riding  around  there,  too." 

"We  did  not  walk  about  any,"  said  Meg. 

Then  they  asked  about  the  folks  at  home,  and  he 
answered,  "They  are  all  well." 

"I  tried  to  get  Will  and  Ed  to  run  down  with  me," 
he  added,  looking  slyly  at  Meg  and  Dell;  "but  they 
said  they  couldn't  spare  the  time." 

"Where  are  you  stopping?"  asked  Laurie. 

"At  the  'Sea  View',"  he  answered. 

The  girls  opened  their  eyes  at  this. 

"We  are  not  going  to  stay  later  than  Saturday," 
Ray  hastened  to  explain  with  a  laugh,  "so  we  can 
afford  to  pay  high  board  for  that  short  time.  And 
that  reminds  me,  there  is  to  be  a  «Hop'  at  the 
'Sea  View.'  this  evening.  Would  you  like  to  attend? 
I  should  be  very  happy  to  have  the  honor  of  your 
company." 

He  looked  at  all  three  as  he  spoke.  Meg's  eyes 
shone  with  pleasure,  Dell  smiled  her  assent,  and  only 
Laurie  looked  disturbed. 

"I  shall  be  most  happy,"  said  Meg.  "You  are 
very  kind." 

"I  should  like  to  attend  very  much,  thank  you," 
said  Dell. 

Ray  looked  inquiringly  at   Laurie.     Her  face  was 


292  MEGDA. 


suffused  with  blushes,  but  her  blue  eyes  looked  stead- 
ily back  at  him. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Blanding,"  she  said 
in  a  low,  trembling  voice ;  "  but  I  do  not  think  I  care 
to  go." 

Ray  understood  and  respected  her  reason.  He 
only  bowed,  and  said  kindly,  "I  should  be  very 
happy  to  have  you  go,  Miss  Ray,  but  you  know  best." 

Laurie's  grateful  look  thanked  him.  As  for  Meg, 
she  felt  irritably,  but  'unreasonably,  angry  toward 
Laurie  for  refusing  to  go  with  them.  Does  anyone 
know  why  ? 

Dell  took  Laurie's  reason  calmly,  as  a  "  matter  of 
course".  She  was  not  at  all  surprised,  much  less 
angry.  Laurie  was  doing  what  she  thought  was 
right ;  Dell  did  not  consider  it  any  of  her  business  to 
question  that  right.  Besides,  she  fully  understood 
Laurie,  as  well  as  the  rest  did,  and  she  respected  her 
for  not  doing  what  she  thought  she  ought  not.  But 
then,  Dell's  conscience  was  not  troubling  her,  and 
Meg's  was ;  had  been  for  the  past  four  weeks.  She 
determined  to  drown  it  to-night  if  it  were  a  possible 
thing. 

Poor  Meg ! 

In  the  afternoon,  great  clouds  came  rolling  up  from 
the  West,  covering  the  bright-blue  of  the  sky,  and 


A    VISIT.  293 


hiding  the  sun  from  sight.  At  six  o'clock  it  com- 
menced to  rain  —  not  hard,  but  in  a  most  provoking, 
misty,  drizzling  way.  The  girls  went  to  supper  and 
came  back  again  in  their  gossamers  with  the  hoods 
pulled  up  over  their  heads.  At  quarter  past  seven 
Meg  and  Dell  commenced  to  dress,  Laurie  serving  as 
waiting-maid.  Meg  spoke  sharply  to  her  now  and 
then  —  she  had  been  very  cross  with  her  all  the  after- 
noon—  but  Laurie  bore  it  meekly  and  patiently. 
She  was  going  to  have  her  revenge  on  her  after  they 
had  gone  and  she  was  there  alone.  She  was  going  to 
spend  the  evening  in  prayer  for  Meg;  she  could 
afford  to  bear  with  her  patiently  now. 

"Of  course  we  shall  go  in  a  carriage,"  said  Meg, 
standing  in  the  door  of  the  clothes-press,  and  looking 
at  her  dresses  hanging  up  inside ;  "  so  I  shall  dress  as 
I  should  have  done  if  it  had  been  pleasant." 

"And  that  is?"  said  Dell,  interrogatively,  looking 
up  through  the  meshes  of  her  long,  golden  hair  which 
she  was  brushing. 

"In  my  white  mull." 

"Very  well;  so  shall  I." 

At  eight  o'clock  Ray  came  for  them.  The  girls 
wrapped  their  peasant-capes  about  them,  put  their  lace 
scarfs  over  their  hair;  and  glided  down  the  stairs. 
Laurie  held  the  lamp  over  the  balcony  railing  to  light 


294  MEGDA. 


the  way  from  the  door  to  the  carriage.     Ray  helped 
them  in  and  away  they  went. 

Meg  was  feeling  feverishly  unhappy.  She  was 
doing  what  she  knew  to  be  a  weak  thing.  Where  was 
all  her  boasted  "strength  of  character"?  Laurie  had 
proved  herself  worthy,  and  she  —  Meg  —  was  fast 
proving  herself  most  unworthy.  So  she  told  herself, 
bitterly,  as  she  leaned  back  in  the  carriage. 

"But  it  is  easy  for  Laurie  to  be  good,"  she  said 
to  herself,  in  self-defense.  "She  has  everything  to 
encourage  her.  A  lovely  home,  all  the  money  she 
wants,  a  father  to  take  care  of  her;  and  then  Hal" 
Here  Meg  found  her  thoughts  intolerable.  She  sat 
up  straight  in  her  seat  and  commenced  to  talk  viva- 
ciously with  Ray. 

When  Meg  went  into  the  large,  brilliantly-lighted 
ball-room,  and  took  her  seat,  she  thought :  "  If  I  have 
been  weak  enough  to  come,  I  need  not  dance.  I  will 
surely  be  strong  enough  to  resist  that  temptation." 

So  she  smilingly  declined  Ray's  request  that  she 
should  dance  the  Lanciers  with  him,  on  the  plea  that 
she  wanted  to  watch  the  others  a  while.  So  Dell 
went  off  with  him  instead,  and  Meg  sat  and  watched 
the  gay  crowd.  But  when  the  first,  clear,  beautiful 
strains  of  music  burst  upon '  the  air,  Meg  felt  her- 
self tremble  all  over.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes 


A    VISIT.  295 


shone,  her  heart  beat  quickly  Before  the  first  figure 
was  finished,  she  was  almost  wild  to  get  up  and  take 
part  in  the  intricate  mazes  of  the  dance.  She  kept 
time  with  the  music  softly  with  her  hands  and  feet, 
and  when  the  dance  was  over,  and  Ray  led  Dell  to 
a  seat  beside  her,  Meg  greeted  them  with,  "What 
perfect  music ! " 

"Isn't  it?"  replied  Ray,  unfurling  Dell's  fan  and 
fanning  himself  and  Dell  with  it.  "The  next  number 
is  a  waltz.  Surely  you  will  not  be  content  to  watch 
that?"  he  asked  lightly. 

Meg  smiled  —  she  wasn't  quite  sure. 

The  music  commenced — soft,  dreamy,  intoxicating 
—  "Flowers  of  St.  Petersburg."  When  had  'Meg 
ever  been  proof  against  her  favorite  waltz  ?  The 
music  entered  her  whole  being,  and  took  entire  pos- 
session. She  looked  up  into  Ray's  face  bending  over 
her,  with  shining  eyes.  He  smiled  and  held  out  his 
hand.  The  next  moment,  she  had  risen  to  her  feet, 
his  arm  clasped  her  lightly,  but  firmly,  and  together 
they  went  swaying  down  the  long,  smooth  floor. 

"You  are  a  perfect  waltzer,"  whispered  Ray,  but 
Meg  scarcely  heard  him. 

After  that  until  twelve  o'clock,  Meg  did  not  miss 
one  number.  Ray  brought  up  several  of  his  "bicycle 
acquaintances"  —all  pleasant,  refined,  intelligent,  but 


296  MEGDA. 


worldly  young  men  —  and  introduced  them.  Meg  did 
not  have  time  to  think,  did  not  want  to  think.  The 
gentlemen  coaxed  and  pleaded  that  they  would  stay 
"just  one  hour  longer"  —  "just  one  dance  more," 
but  the  girls  were  inexorable.  At  twelve  o'clock  they 
bade  them  good-night,  and  were  driven  back  to  their 
cottage. 

When  Meg  and  Dell  entered  their  room  —  softly, 
for  fear  of  waking  Laurie  —  they  found  the  lamp 
burning  dimly  on  the  table,  and  beside  it  was  Laurie's 
little  Bible  with  her  handkerchief  put  between  the 
leaves.  Meg  stood  looking  at  it  for  a  moment,  then 
she  opened  it  slowly  to  the  place  where  Laurie's 
handkerchief  held  it,  and  her  eyes  fell  upon  these 
words:  "The  Lord  loveth  whom  He  chasteneth." 

Meg  closed  the  book  and  stepped  to  the  bed  where 
Laurie  lay,  fast  asleep.  How  pure  and  sweet  and 
untroubled  looked  the  pretty,  flower-like  face !  A 
smile  parted  the  pretty  lips ;  the  whole  expression 
was  one  of  simple  trust  and  perfect  peace.  Meg 
turned  away  with  an  aching  heart.  Dell  was  shak- 
ing out  the  folds  of  her  white  dress,  with  a  rueful 
face. 

"We  shan't  be  able  to  wear  these  dresses  here 
again,  Meg,"  she  said,  going  into  the  closet  to  hang 
hers  up.  "They  are  crushed  beyond  redemption." 


A    VISIT.  297 


The  words  were  thoughtless,  and  were  thought- 
lessly spoken,  but  they  went  through  Meg's  heart  like 
a  dart.  Oh,  to  be  alone  once  more ;  to  fall  upon  her 
knees  arid  ask  God  to  forgive  her  for  all  her  bitter 
feelings  for  the  past  weeks  ;  her  weak,  sinful  yielding 
to  temptation ;  her  bitter  complaining  against  her 
Heavenly  Father's  will,  before  she  was  lost  "beyond 
redemption ".  Her  sin  looked  terrible  to  her  that 
night.  She  had  dared  to  question  God's  goodness ; 
she  had  dared  to  rebel  against  His  righteous  will. 

"Father,  forgive  me,"  was  the  prayer  she  said  that 
night,  and  said  it  many  times  over,  before  she  fell 
into  a  deep,  untroubled  sleep.  She  had  put  herself 
altogether,  in  His  strong,  merciful  hands;  she  had 
prayed  for  strength  to  say  from  the  heart,  "  Thy  will 
be  done."  She  had  simply  "gone  back"  to  Him  — 
to  the  shelter  of  His  dear,  loving  arms,  and  He  was 
holding  her  firm  and  sure.  After  that  night,  the 
lamp  of  Faith  burned  more  brightly  before  Meg  in 
her  path  through  life,  driving  away  the  mists  and 
shadows  of  uncertainty  and  doubt,  and  making  all 
clear  before  her. 

Saturday  morning  found  "our  girls"  all  ready  to 
go  home.  They  had  had  a  delightful  time,  but  still 
they  were  ready  to  go  home.  Ray  and  his  friends 
had  made  the  remaining  time  pass  very  swiftly  and 


298  MEGDA. 


pleasantly.  They  went  as  far  as  New  Bedford  with 
the  girls,  and  then  left  them  to  make  the  rest  of  the 
distance  home  on  their  wheels. 

The  day  was  beautiful,  clear,  cool  and  sunshiny. 
The  young  people  found  comfortable  seats  on  the 
upper  deck  and  enjoyed  the  sail  home  in  a  degree 
that  made  up  for  the  sail  down.  As  the  girls  settled 
themselves  in  their  seats  in  the  train  after  bidding  the 
gentlemen  good-by,  Meg  looked  at  Laurie's  pretty, 
unconscious  face  bent  over  her  book  with  a  loving, 
peaceful  smile. 

"Darling  Laurie,"  she  said  to  herself.  "What 
a  lesson  you  have  taught  me !  You  have  taught 
me  the  meaning  of  that  prayer,  'Lead  us  not  into 
temptation." 


A    WEDDING.  299 


XXI. 

A   WEDDING. 

IT  is  the  evening  of  the  fifth  of  October  —  a  most 
beautiful,  calm,  moonlight  evening.  The  Church 
is  brilliantly  illuminated.  Carriage  after  carriage  has 
rolled  up  before  the  front  entrance,  deposited  its 
daintily-dressed  burdens,  and  rolled  away  again.  The 
hands  of  the  clock  point  to  the  hour  of  eight.  Inside 
the  closely-packed  church  a  deep  stillness  has  settled. 
A  look  of  expectancy  is  expressed  on  every  face. 
Fans  of  all  colors  flutter  lazily  to  and  fro.  In  two  of 
the  front  seats  sit  "our  girls".  Every  member  of 
the  " senior  class"  but  one  is  there,  and  their  dress 
is  the  graduating  dress  with  its  bunch  of  hyacinths. 
It  was  the  wish  of  the  bride  that  the  "class"  should 
attend  the  wedding  in  a  body,  and  wearing  the  dress 
and  flowers  that  they  wore  on  their,  graduating  day 
—  four  months  before. 

At  last  the  low,  sweet  notes  of  the  organ  rise,  fall 
and  tremble  on  the  air;  then  a  louder  burst  of  joyous 


300  MEGDA. 


music,  as  the  organist  breaks  forth  into  "Beautiful 
Bride's  Wedding  March/'  then  the  Rev.  Arthur  Nor- 
man Stanley,  accompanied  by,  the  Rev.  Percy  Leon 
Nordre,  of  Brooklyn,  comes  from  the  room  on  the 
left,  and  the  handsome,  faultlessly-dressed  bridegroom 
from  the  room  on  the  right.  There  is  a  little  flutter, 
a  little  stir  among  the  guests,  then  the  doors  arc 
swung  open,  and  down  the  broad  aisle  move  the 
bridal  party. 

Maude  Leonard,  in  her  beautiful  dress  of  cream 
satin,  with  the  bridal  veil  falling  in  folds  to  her  feet, 
and  the  crown  of  orange  blossoms  on  her  dark  hair, 
makes  as  handsome  a  bride  as  any  one  might  wish  to 
see.  In  her  hand  she  carries  a  large  bouquet  of 
orange  blossoms  and  lilies  of  the  valley.  She  is  lean- 
ing on  the  arm  of  her  father,  and  behind  her  walks 
her  "maid  of  honor",  Adele  Belmont,  sister  of  the 
groom.  She  is  dressed  in  a  short  costume  of  white 
lace  over  primrose  satin,  and  carries  a  loose  bunch  of 
yellow  primroses  in  her  hand.  A  small  cap  of  white 
lace  caught  up  at  the  side  with  a  spray  of  the  same 
flower  rests  on  her  dark  curls.  On  her  feet  are 
dainty  slippers  of  primrose  satin.  She  makes  a  most 
charming  "maid  of  honor". 

The  bridal  party  moved  slowly  up  the  aisle ;  the 
groom  left  the  chancel  and  came  to  meet  his  bride; 


A    WEDDING.  301 


and  then,  with  the  low,  soft  notes  of  the  organ  breath- 
ing out  sweet  music,  Maude  Leonard  and  Augustus 
Belmont  were  made  man  and  wife. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  marriage  service,  the 
"class"  had  risen  to  their  feet,  and  all  through  the 
ceremony,  had  stood  with  bowed  heads.  It  was  a 
"whim"  of  Maude's  that  they  should  do  so.  They 
had  demurred  against  it  at  first  among  themselves, 
until  Meg  had  said :  "  Let  us  do  as  Maude  wishes. 
It  is  probably  the  last  favor  she  will  ever  ask  of  any 
of  us,  and  she  is  to  leave  us  —  in  one  sense  of  the 
word  —  forever.  Let  us  do  as  she  wishes."  And  so 
they  had  consented,  and  they  were  glad  now  that  they 
had,  for  as  they  listened  to  the  solemn  words  of  prom- 
ise, their  young  hearts  were  touched,  and  all  felt  noth- 
ing but  tender  love  for  Maude,  and  regret  that  she 
should  so  soon  leave  them.  The  first  link  was  broken 
in  the  golden  chain.  But  Maude  had  no  regretful 
feelings ;  and  as  she  moved  down  the  aisle  leaning 
proudly  on  her  husband's  arm,  her  face  expressed  noth- 
ing but  joy  and  happiness. 

And  so  she  passed  from  among  them,  to  enter  a 
life  of  social  pleasure  and  excitement,  and  from  that 
night  until  years  after,  she  was  literally  lost  to  them. 

The  glorious  October  days  passed  swiftly  along,  and 
glided  serenely  into  those  of  dark,  cloudy,  foggy 


302  MEGDA. 


November.  To  Meg,  the  time  seemed  to  go  by  on 
wings.  She  had  put  herself  —  her  life  —  entirely  into 
the  Father's  care  and  keeping,  willing  to  trust  Him  in 
all  things,  feeling  sure  that  "He  doeth  all  things 
well".  And  the  peace  and  the  rest  that  had  been 
promised  her,  were  slowly  but  surely  settling  down 
upon  her. 

She  had  one  great  longing  and  desire,  and  that  was, 
"to  secure  a  position  as  teacher  in  either  a  public  or 
private  school,  that  she  might  continue  her  study  of 
elocution."  But  this,  too,  she  had  left  with  Him, 
knowing  that  He  would  make  all  things  come  to  pass 
in  His  own  good  time.  Meg  was  fast  learning  the 
grand  lesson  of  Faith. 

One  cold,  damp,  misty  night  toward  the  end  of 
November,  Meg  was  sitting  in  the  little  kitchen,  her 
feet  in  the  oven,  "  David  Copperfield "  in  her  lap. 
She  was  fast  becoming  acquainted  with  "  David ", 
and  liked  him  immensely  well.  It  was  the  night  for 
the  "Young  People's  Christian  Endeavor  Meeting". 
Meg  had  a  bad  cold,  and  did  not  feel  like  venturing 
out.  She  played  for  them  at  the  meetings  now,  but 
knew  if  she  were  not  there  that  Dell  or  Lill  would 
play.  Just  as  she  was  smiling  over  that  amusing  por- 
tion where  David  tries  to  impress  upon  the  mind  of 
his  "child-wife"  the  necessity  of  his  having  his  meals 


A    WEDDING.  303 


more  regularly,  the  door  opened  and  Dell  walked  in. 
She  had  her  gossamer  on,  and  her  face  gleamed  white 
under  the  dark  hood. 

"  Why,  Dell !  "  exclaimed  Meg,  letting  her  book  fall 
into  her  lap,  and  taking  her  feet  out  of  the  oven. 
"What  good  fairy  sent  you  here  to-night?" 

"  Rather  a  heartless  fairy,  I  am  afraid  you  will 
think,"  answered  Dell,  sitting  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  stove,  and  putting  her  feet  up  to  warm.  "I 
came  to  see  if  I  could  entice  you  out.  I  met  Hal 
down  street,  and  he  told  me  that  you  were  not  going 
on  account  of  having  a  bad  cold,  but  I  wanted  you  to 
be  there  to-night,  and  I  have  waded  my  way  up  here. 
It  is  bad  walking." 

Meg  looked  at  Dell,  surprised.  "  But  why  to-night, 
in  particular,  Dell?" 

"Because  I  am  going  to  take  the  first  step  to-night, 
Meg,"  answered  Dell  in  a  firm  voice.  "And  I  want 
you  to  be  there." 

Meg  rose  from  her  seat  immediately  and  went 
around  the  stove  to  Dell.  "  And  I  will  be  there,  Dell," 
she  said,  in  low,  glad  tones,  and  she  bent  and  kissed 
her. 

That  was  enough.  Both  girls  perfectly  understood 
each  other.  The  only  thing  that  was  said  between 
them  on  the  subject,  was  when  Meg  was  putting  her 


304  MEGDA. 


jacket  on;  then  Dell  said — not  boastingly,  but  as 
if  to  strengthen  her  own  determination:  " There  is 
one  thing  that  I  am  sure  of,  Meg.  I  am  never  going 
to  put  myself  in  the  way  of  temptation,  as  a  test  to 
my  own  strength  and  worthiness."  And  Meg  replied, 
"That  is  where  you  are  wise,  Dell,  where  I  was  very 
foolish." 

Ah,  Meg  was  learning  that  with  "her  own  strength 
she  could  do  nothing,  but  with  Him  all  things  were 
possible." 

Mrs.  Randal  and  Elsie  had  already  gone,  so  Meg 
blew  the  light  out,  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key 
in  a  corner  of  the  back  piazza. 

That  night  more  than  one  heart  was  made  glad 
with  the  knowledge  that  three  more  young  lives  were 
placed  in  the  Father's  keeping.  Meg  was  surprised 
when  Ed  Holmes  and  Bert  Marston  confessed  them- 
selves ready  and  anxious  to  do  work  for  the  Master. 
Mr.  Stanley's  prayer  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  was 
full  of  heart-felt  thanks  to  the  "  Giver  of  all  mercies  ". 
At  its  conclusion,  he  said,  "All  glory  be  to  Thy 
Holy  Name,  O  Christ,  whose  love  is  infinite,  and 
whose  power  is  unlimited." 

It  was  a  glad  sight  to  see  the  young  Christians  tak- 
ing their  sisters  and  brothers  by  the  hand,  and  wel- 
coming them  to  the  fold.  The  young  pastor's  face 


A    WEDDING.  305 


shone  with  a  light  of  perfect  peace  and  happiness,  as 
he  watched  them. 

Two  weeks  later,  Mr.  Stanley  called  on  Dell.  The 
object  of  his  visit  was  to  see  when  Dell  felt  as  if 
she  would  be  ready  to  unite  with  the  Church.  Her 
reply  was  —  well,  it  was  Dell's  answer,  and  that  is 
saying  it  all — "I  am  ready  to  unite  with  the  Church 
at  any  time.  I  am  as  ready  now  as  I  should  be  if  I 
waited  a  year." 

"Will  Christmas  Eve  suit  you?"  asked  Mr.  Stan- 
ley. "  Our  brothers  think  that  would  be  a  happy 
time  for  it." 

"It  will  suit  me  perfectly  well,"  replied  Dell. 

Her  manner  pleased  Mr.  Stanley  exceedingly. 
"Such  a  character  as  hers  is  as  admirable  as  it  is 
rare,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  house,  and 
made  his  way  to  Meg's  home. 

He  had  not  talked  with  Meg  once  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  baptism.  He  had  felt  as  if  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  him  not  to.  He  had  thought  that  when  she 
felt  ready  to  unite  with  the  Church,  she  would  tell 
him  so.  But  it  had  been  seven  months  now  since  she 
had  entered  into  the  Christian  life,  and  nothing  had 
been  said  on  either  side  about  her  taking  the  second 
step.  Mr.  Stanley  had  his  doubts  as  to  the  advisable- 
ness  of  speaking  to  her  upon  the  subject  now,  but  the 


306  MEGDA. 


young  pastor  was  a  very  conscientious  person.  He 
said  to  himself,  what  so  many  earnest,  conscientious 
pastors  say  to  themselves:  "This  may  be  the  'time 
of  all  times '  for  me  to  speak  to  her.  She  may  be 
waiting  and  longing  for  it,  and  if,  in  the  years  to 
come,  I  were  to  find  it  out  —  perhaps  when  it  is  too 
late  —  I  should  never  forgive  myself  for  the  neglected 
duty.  I  will  go  to  her,  and  if  my  errand  is  fruitless, 
I  have  only  to  leave  her  in  the  hands  of  a  just  and 
generous  God.  He  will  lead  her  according  to  His 
own  judgment." 

Meg  was  alone  when  Mr.  Stanley  rang  the  bell. 
She  opened  the  door  for  him,  looked  a  little  surprised 
and  —  did  he  fancy  it?  —  it  seemed  that  her  fair  face 
grew  a  little  pale  as  she  saw  who  her  visitor  was,  and 
invited  him  to  walk  in.  He  talked  on  commonplace 
things  at  first,  and  he  noticed  for  the  first  time,  what 
a  new  expression  of  sweet,  grave  dignity  was  settling 
down  on  the  girlish  face.  There  was  a  stately, 
womanly  air  about  her,  too,  as  she  moved  about  the 
room,  which  was  very  attractive. 

At  last  Mr.  Stanley  introduced  the  object  of  his 
call.  He  told  her  that  Dell,  Ed  and  Bert  were  to 
take  the  step ;  they  had  expressed  a  desire  to  be 
taken  into  the  church  —  at  least,  Ed  and  Bert  had, 
and  Dell  was  glad  to  do  it  at  the  same  time.  "Do 


A    WEDDING.  307 


you  not  feel  ready  to  come  with  them,  Miss  Meg?" 
he  asked,  resting  his  kind,  dark-blue  eyes  earnestly 
upon  her. 

Meg  listened  to  him  silently,  a  pink  flush  tinging 
her  pale  cheeks'as  she  did  so,  and  when  he  asked  her 
if  she  did  not  feel  ready,  she  answered  him  by  asking 
him  a  question. 

"  They  are  to  be  baptized  in  the  church,  are  they 
not?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  looking  at  her  in  a  little 
surprise. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  would  rather  not,"  she 
said.  "When  I  am  baptized,  I  want  to  be  baptized 
in  the  river.  That  seems  to  me  to  be  the  only  right 
way." 

Mr.  Stanley  looked  at  her  silently  for  a  moment. 
What  a  strange  girl  she  was !  And  yet,  her  idea 
pleased  him,  he  hardly  knew  why. 

"  Do  you  think  it  makes  any  difference  where  you 
are  baptized  —  whether  it  is  in  open  air  or  under  cover 
—  so  long  as  you  obey  the  command,  and  conform  to 
the  rules  and  ordinances  of  the  church  ? "  he  asked. 

"It  seems  to  me  the  only  right  way,"  she  repeated. 
"And  it  is  the  way  that  our  Saviour  took." 

He  did  not  smile ;  he  understood  her  and  respected 
her  sense  of  right.  He  saw  she  was  not  talking 


308  MEGDA. 


merely  for  the  sake  of  argument,  but  because  she  felt 
what  she  said.  He  would  not  urge  her  —  he  would 
not  try  to  change  her  mind  —  indeed,  he  knew  how 
fruitless  such  an  attempt  would  be  —  he  only  said 
as  if  defending  the  mode  of  baptism  in  his  church : 
"But  it  would  hardly  be  prudent  to  be  baptized  in 
the  river  at  this  season  of  the  year.  Do  you  not 
think  so?" 

Still  she  shook  her  head  with  a  smile.  "Then  I 
will  wait  until  it  is  pleasant.  Baptism  any  other  way 
seems  to  me  not  so  satisfactory.  Not  that  I  think 
it  is  not  as  true  as  one  in  the  river  would  be,"  she 
added  quickly,  seeing  the  look  of  grieved  surprise  on 
his  face,  "only,  I  could  never  be  satisfied  with  it.  It 
is  the  way  in  which  I  feel,  that  is  all.  You  do  not 
blame  me?" 

He  smiled  down  into  the  anxious,  uplifted  face. 
"Blame  you?  far  from  it.  There  is  nothing  to  blame 
you  for,  but  much  for  which  to  respect  you.  Yet  I 
shall  look  forward  to  the  time  when  we  shall  have  you 
safe  with  us.  It  will  be  some  day,  will  it  not  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered  eagerly,  "I  have  fully 
.decided  that  question  in  my  own  heart.  It  will  not 
be  long." 

"God  grant  that  it  may  not  be,"  he  answered 
fervently. 


A    WEDDING.  309 


Before  Meg  realized  what  she  was  doing,  she  was 
telling  Mr.  Stanley  about  her  unhappy  " test".  She 
did  not  know  what  induced  her  to  speak  of  it,  but 
his  manner  was  so  kind  and  friendly  —  almost  broth- 
erly —  that  she  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  tell  him, 
and  hear  what  he  thought  of  it.  She  was  almost  sure 
he  would  despise  her  for  her  egotism  (for  that  is 
what  it  looked  to  her  now)  but  instead,  he  only 
laughed  —  yes,  he  actually  laughed. 

He  said  :  "  You  relied  on  your  own  strength.  You 
see  the  folly  of  it  now  ? " 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,"  she  answered  earnestly. 

"Then  it  was  perhaps  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do, 
since  the  teaching  has  not  been  vain,"  he  said,  much 
to  her  surprise  and  delight. 

"You  really  think  so?" 

"  Yes,  I  really  think  so.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
the  best  and  for  your  good,  it  would  not  have  been  at 
all.  You  have  tested  your  own  strength,  and  it  has 
failed  you.  You  will  be  glad  now  to  lean  on  Him 
whose  strength  is  all-sufficient." 

How  the  words  cheered  Meg ;  she  had  been  regret- 
ting her  "folly"  ever  since  her  eyes  had  been  opened 
to  the  light,  but  now  she  felt  that  it  had  been  all  for 
the  best. 

Mr.  Stanley  stayed  an  hour  longer,  and  when  he 


310  MEGDA. 


went  away,  he  said  to  himself,  the  same  as  Ethel 
had  said  weeks  before,  "What  a  Christian  she  will 
make ! " 

On  Christmas  evening  at  six  o'clock,  was  a  memo- 
rable time.  At  eight  o'clock  Judge  Lawton's  hand- 
some parlors  were  the  scene  of  friendly  intercourse 
and  happy  enjoyment.  Ethel  was  holding  an  infor- 
mal reception.  She  stood  in  the  door,  dressed  in  a 
robe  of  admiral  blue  plush,  made  very  plainly,  and 
with  a  great  bunch  of  drooping  white  roses  against 
her  left  side. 

"Our  girls"  were  there,  and  "the  young  men 
belonging  to  us",  May  said  laughingly  to  Dell.  Mr. 
Stanley,  of  course,  was  there.  There  was  music  — 
vocal  and  instrumental  —  promenading  through  the 
beautiful  rooms ;  laughter,  talk  and  —  refreshments. 
All  the  evening  Meg  could  not  keep  her  eyes  off 
Ethel.  She  had  never  seen  such  an  expression  on 
any  face  in  her  life.  So  tender,  so  happy,  so  full  of 
glad  delight,  yet  withal  so  peaceful  and  trusting.  In 
all  the  years  that  followed  Meg  only  remembered 
Ethel's  face  as  she  saw  it  that  night.  When  Mr. 
Stanley  spoke  to  Ethel,  or  stood  near  where  he  could 
watch  her,  Meg  turned  her  eyes  away ;  she  could  not 
trust  herself  to  watch  the  proud,  tender  light  in  the 
dark-blue  eyes. 


A    WEDDING.  311 


In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Ruth  said  to  Meg, 
"'Oh,  Meg,  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  Have  you  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 

"Come  into  the  conservatory,  where.no  one  can 
hear  us." 

The  two  girls  went  into  the  green,  softly-lighted 
room,  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  a  thousand  blos- 
soms, where  the  fountains  were  tinkling,  and  the  birds 
in  their  gilded  cages  were  drowsily  twittering.  The 
girls  stood  by  a  deep  marble  basin  where  some  gold- 
fish were  swimming.  Judge  Lawton's  conservatory 
was  his  great  pride  and  delight. 

"  It  is  good  news  for  you,  Meg  dear,"  said  Ruth, 
passing  her  arm  around  her.  "  At  least,  I  think  I 
may  safely  say  it  will  be  good  news  to  you.  Madam 
came  to  me  this  afternoon  at  my  home,  and  told  me 
that  she  had  decided  to  employ  some  one  as  assistant 
to  Prof.  Weir  for  next  term,  and  she  wanted  to  know 
if  you  were  engaged  in  any  kind  of  employment ;  that 
is  all  she  said,  but  Meg,  I  am  positive  she  asked  me 
that  in  the  hope  I  would  tell  you,  and  you  would 
apply  for  the  position." 

Ruth  stopped  and  looked  at  Meg  with  shining  eyes. 
Meg's  fair  face  flushed  and  she  drew  herself  up 
proudly. 

"Don't,  Meg  dear,"  said  Ruth  softly. 


312  MEGDA. 


Meg  laughed,  a  little  ashamed.  "What  is  your 
opinion,  Ruthie  ? "  she  asked. 

"That  madam  is  trying  —  in  her  own  way,  but  still 
she  is  trying  —  to  make  amends  to  both  of  us.  We 
ought  not  to  doubt  her  sincerity,  Meg,  even  if  we  do 
not  exactly  approve  of  her  manner  of  showing  it." 

"She  should  have1  come  to  us,  Ruth,  in  both  cases," 
said  Meg. 

But  for  all  her  pride  and  wounded  feelings,  Meg 
felt  gratefully  happy.  And  she  was  trying  hard  not 
to  judge  others. 

"  Your  piece  of  news  is  good,  Ruthie.  I  will  apply 
for  the  position,  and  if  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  get  it, 
I  shall  be  one  of  the  happiest  and  most  thankful  of 
girls." 

And  she  did  apply  for  it  that  very  night,  before  she 
retired  to  rest.  She  had  little  fear  that  she  would  not 
get  it,  for  she  had  been  Prof.  Weir's  pride,  as  well  as 
the  pride  of  madam  and  the  whole  school,  in  regard 
to  her  rare  elocutionary  powers.  He  had  told  her 
many  times,  that  she  could  teach  elocution  as  well  as 
he,  after  a  little  experience ;  and  this  was  just  the 
chance  she  wanted  above  all  others.  She  could  con- 
tinue her  own  lessons  now,  besides  adding  her  mite 
to  the  "family  fund".  The  latter  thought  was  the 
best  of  all.  She  wanted  to  be  able  to  support  her- 


A    WEDDING.  313 


self,  and  at  the  same  time  help  her  mother,  and  then 
she  would  be  quite  content.  "And  I  shall  consider 
myself  the  most  ungrateful  of  all  ungrateful  mortals, 
if  I  complain  of  my  lot  then,  or  refuse  to  be  happy 
and  make  others  happy  around  me,"  she  said  to  her- 
self severely,  as  she  at  last  laid  her  head  down  on  her 
pillow  and  tried  to  sleep.  But  sleep  did  not  come  for 
a  long  while ;  not  until  the  gray  dawn  came  up,  damp 
and  chill. 

For  one  long  week  Meg  was  kept  in  suspense; 
necessarily  so,  as  she  knew,  for  madam  had  gone  to 
the  home  of  her  city  relatives  to  spend  the  Christmas 
holidays.  But  almost  as  soon  as  she  returned  and 
received  Meg's  letter,  she  came  herself,  to  answer  it 
in  person.  She  was  very  kind  indeed,  and  Meg  felt 
very  grateful  to  her. 

"You  know,"  said  madam,  as  she  rose  to  leave,  and 
putting  both  hands  on  Meg's  shoulders,  "that  you 
were  always  one  of  my  favorites,  and  it  will  be  a 
great  pleasure  for  me  to  know- that  I  have  you  still 
with  me,"  and  she  kissed  Meg  on  both  cheeks  in  true 
French  fashion. 

That  was  a  great  condescension  on  madam's  part, 
and  Meg  appreciated  it. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  me,  madam,"  she  replied 
earnestly.  "I  shall  do  my  best  to  be  worthy." 


314  MEGDA. 


"I  am  sure  that  you  will.  And  you  know,  Meg, 
that  this  may  be  but  an  opening  to  you.  Who  knows 
but  in  a  few  years  at  the  most,  you  will  be  'head 
teacher  of  elocution  '  in  some  of  our  fine  city  schools. 
I  assure  you  Professor  Weir  is  loud  in  his  praises 
of  you.  He  has  always  admired  you  exceedingly." 

Madam  looked  into  the  clear,  dark  eyes  as  she 
spoke,  but  Meg  only  smiled  and  answered  gravely, 
"Professor  Weir  is  also  very  kind." 

"He  is  a  perfect  gentleman,"  was  madam's  some- 
what unexpected  reply. 

Then  she  went  away,  and  Meg  hastened  to  carry 
the  "good  news"  to  her  dear  ones.  Of  course  they 
rejoiced  with  her,  but  Hal  said  rather  jealously,  "I 
wish  it  were  possible  for  me  to  make  any  kind  of 
work  unnecessary  for  you,  Girlie." 

And  Meg  answered  quickly :  "  I  am  glad  it  isn't, 
brother.  It  will  not  be  work  but  pleasure  for  me,  and 
I  could  never  be  satisfied  with  leading  an  idle  life." 

So  Meg  commenced  her  duties  where  the  happiest 
hours  of  her  life  had  been  spent.  It  seemed  very 
strange  to  think  that  she  and  Ruth,  of  all  the  girls, 
were  back  among  the  old  scenes ;  but  now  they  were 
there  as  dignified  teachers,  not  merry,  laughing  pupils. 
It  was  quite  a  while  before  Meg  could  bear  to  go  into 
the  senior's  parlor,  but  after  she  had  become  some- 


A    WEDDING.  315 


what  used  to  the  idea  of  being  there  in  the  capacity 
of  teacher,  she  found  herself  often  going  there  with 
Ruth  when  "off  duty",  for  an  hour  of  quiet  talking, 
studying,  reading  or  thinking. 

At  these  times  it  seemed  to  Meg,  as  she  sat  in 
"Ethel's  chair"  beside  the  fire-place,  that  she  had 
suddenly  grown  very  old  and  grave  and  dignified ;  she 
could  almost  imagine  that  the  ghosts  of  departed 
class-mates  entered  the  room  at  the  quiet  twilight 
hour,  hovered  around  her  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  disappeared.  But  such  things  could  only  have 
happened  when  she  was  in  a  half-somnambulistic 
state,  for  she  would  come  to  herself  with  a  little  start, 
and  seeing  Ruth  in  her  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fire-place  with  her  head  on  her  hand,  and  her 
great,  dreamy  eyes  gazing  steadily  ahead  of  her  as  if 
trying  to  pierce  the  darkness  of  the  dim,  unknown 
future,  Meg  would  laugh  and  say  —  trying  to  speak 
lightly  —  "Come,  Ruthie,  let  us  leave  the  scene  of  our 
labors,  and  make  our  way  homeward  —  poor,  forlorn 
sisters-in-misery  that  we  are  !  ft 

And  Ruth  would  answer,  passing  her  arm  around 
Meg's  waist,  "Let  us  rather  say,  'blest  sisters  in  hap- 
piness that  we  are'." 


316  MEGDA. 


XXII. 

JOY  AND  SORROW. 

JANUARY  and  February  passed  quietly  by.  Meg 
was  settling  down  to  her  "Fate  in  Life",  as  she 
humorously  called  it,  with  the  meekest  of  resigna- 
tions. Once  when  Hal  rallied  her  on  her  "  old-maid  " 
existence,  she  drew  the  corners  of  her  red  mouth 
down,  and  said  very  pathetically,  "I'm  a  lone  born 
creetur',  Dan'l,  and  everything  goes  contrary  with 
me."  After  that  Hal  invariably  called  her  "Missis 
Gummidge". 

But  Meg  was  growing  to  be  quietly,  contentedly 
happy;  thankful  for  the  goodness  and  mercy  of  her 
Heavenly  Father. 

One  wild,  rainy,  boisterous  March  afternoon,  Meg 
started  to  go  home  rather  earlier  than  usual.  To  her 
surprise  Prof.  Weir  expressed  a  desire  to  accompany 
her,  giving  as  his  reason,  "that  he  was  afraid  the 
wind  would  prove  too  much  for  her."  Meg,  at  first, 
thought  she  would  refuse  his  company,  but  he  seemed 


JO  T  AND ,  SORR  0  W.  317 

so  anxious,   that  she   accepted   it,   rather   glad    than 
otherwise  to  have  it. 

Prof.  Weir  was  a  man  of  some  thirty-five  years  of 
age,  tall,  slight  and  fair,  with  kind,  gray  eyes,  and  a 
long,  drooping  mustache.  He  was  very  quiet  in  com- 
pany,'seldom  giving  his  opinion  on  any  subject  unless 
it  was  called  for,  and  then,  as  Hal  expressed  it, 
''going  ahead  of  everything".  He  had  been  very 
kind  indeed  to  Meg,  making  her  duties  as  easy  as 
possible  for  her,  and  Meg  liked  him  very  much,  and 
respected  him  highly. 

To-night  but  little  was  said  by  either,  during  the 
first  part  of  the  walk ;  all  their  thoughts  and  energies 
were  given  to  the  boisterous  wind.  Meg  could  not 
help  thinking  of  that  other  windy,  rainy  night,  when 
Mr.  Stanley  had  walked  from  the  corner  with  her. 
She  was  smiling  over  it  rather  sadly,  when  she  sud- 
denly became  aware  that  her  companion  was  talking 
to  her  in  a  low,  earnest  voice.  When  she  had  col- 
lected her  thoughts  sufficiently  to  hear  what  he  was 
saying,  she  found,  to  her  great  astonishment  and 
pain,  that  he  was  asking  her  to  be  his  wife. 

"  I  love  you,  Miss  Randal,  with  all  my  heart  ami 
soul.  I  am  thirty-five  years  old,  and  you  are  the 
first  woman  I  have  ever  said  that  to.  I  will  be  a 
good  husband  to  you;  you  shall  have  everything 


318  MEGDA. 


it  is  in  my  power  to  give  you..     Will  you   be    my 
wife  ? " 

Meg's  face  had  flushed  painfully  while  she  listened. 
She  would  have  given  a  great  deal  not  to  have  had 
this  happen ;  for,  like  every  good,  pure-minded  girl, 
Meg  felt  far  above  tampering  with  the  affections  of 
any  man  —  trying  to  win  his  love,  only  that  she  might 
throw  it  away.  Marriage  seemed  to  her  almost  as 
solemn  a  thing  as  death.  The  idea  of  marrying  where 
she  did  not  love  with  her  whole  heart,  never  entered 
her  head ;  she  gave  no  thought  to  the  worldly  advan- 
tages such  an  alliance  as  this  would  bring  her ;  she 
only  knew  that  she  did  not  love  him,  and  she  would 
not  wrong  him  or  herself  by  accepting  his  proposal. 

Meg  told  him  this  as  kindly  and  gently  as  she 
could,  and  he  took  his  disappointment  like  the  gentle- 
man that  he  was,  but  Meg  knew,  by  the  expression 
of  his  face,  how  great  the  disappointment  was. 

If  Meg  had  any  doubts  as  to  the  sincerity  of  his 
affection  for  her,  those  doubts  were  rapidly  dispelled 
during  the  days  that  followed.  Prof.  Weir  never 
changed  in  his  kind,  thoughtful,  gentlemanly  behavior 
toward  her.  He  made  her  feel  perfectly  at  her  ease, 
and  above  all,  he  gave  her  to  understand  that  he 
realized  fully  how  hopeless  his  love  was;  he  never^ 
troubled  her  with  a  repetition  of  it,  and  Meg  apprecia- 


JO Y  AND   SORROW.  319 

ted  his   kind  courtesy,   and   respected   him  with   her 

whole  heart. 

*  *  *  #  *  # 

"The  ordinance  of  baptism  will  be  administered 
on  the  morning  of  Sunday  next  —  Easter  —  at  nine 
o'clock." 

Such  was  the  announcement  made  from  the  pulpit, 
by  the  Rev.  A.  N.  Stanley ;  and  as  Meg  heard  it,  a 
thrill  of  happiness  passed  over  her,  and  from  her 
heart  arose  the  glad  cry,  "Praise  the  Lord,  oh,  my 
soul,  and  all  that  is  within  me,  praise  and  bless  His 
holy  name." 

Thursday  evening  found  the  vestry  of  the  church 
nearly  filled.  There  were  fifty-two  testimonies  given. 
By  every  one  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  was  felt.  It  was 
a  joyful  meeting ;  there  was  such  a  blessed  feeling  of 
relationship,  as  if  each  one  realized  that  they  were  all 
brothers  and  sisters  in  Christ  —  children  of  the  same 
loving,  all-merciful  Father. 

When  at  the  last,  Meg  rose  to  give  her  "experi- 
ence ",  it  was  very  quiet.  At  first  the  beautiful  voice 
trembled  a  little,  then,  as  she  forgot  all  else  but  her 
one  great  happiness,  it  grew  strong  and  firm.  She 
said : 

"I  think  my  experience  can  be  given  in  a  very  few 
words.  Last  April  I  became  convinced  that  the  life 


320  MEGDA. 


I  was  leading  was  not  the  right  one.  I  was  happy  — 
at  least,  I  thought  I  was  —  but  I  was  not  satisfied. 
There  was  a  longing  for  something  that  I  did  not 
have ;  a  feeling  of  unrest  that  I  could  not  explain.  I 
listened  to  a  sermon  preached  in  this  place  on  Easter 
Sunday  morning,  and  that  sermon  was  just  what  I 
needed.  It  explained  the  feeling  of  longing  and 
unrest.  I  knew  then  that  it  was  the  Saviour  I 
wanted.  He  had  said,  'Come  unto  me,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest.'  ' Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  I 
will  make  them  like  wool.'  I  went  to  Him,  and  He 
did  give  me  rest.  I  asked  Him  to  forgive  me  my 
sins,  and  He  has  forgiven  them.  The  love  I  have  for 
Him  in  my  heart  for  His  great  mercy,  is  unspeakable. 
If  I  were  to  devote  all  the  years  of  my  life  to  His  ser- 
vice, I  could  not  begin  to  pay  Him  the  debt  I  owe. 
It  is  impossible  for  me  to  express  the  great  happiness 
I  feel  —  to  know  that  all  my  sins  have  been  forgiven, 
washed  away  by  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  I  have  never 
felt  ready  to  unite  with  any  church  until  now.  I 
wanted  to  be  sure  of  myself,  I  am  sure  of  myself  now. 
I  want  to  be  baptized.  I  feel  sure  that  it  is  not  only 
my  duty  to  do  so,  but  that  I  shall  not  be  perfectly 
happy  until  I  am.  Then  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  am,  in 
reality,  one  of  His  children." 

Easter  Sunday  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  days 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  321 

that  ever  dawned.  The  morning  was  perfect.  It 
seemed  as  if  it  could  not  have  been  pleasanter.  The 
sky  was  of  the  lovliest,-  most  delicate  shade  of  blue ; 
not  a  cloud  was  to  be  seen.  The  sun  shone  brightly, 
the  air  was  clear  and  warm.  As  Meg  was  driven 
through  the  quiet  streets  that  led  to  the  river,  not  a 
sound  disturbed  the  Sabbath  stillness,  but  the  singing 
of  the  birds  in  the  trees,  until  the  carriage  entered  the 
great  gate  that  opened  into  the  beautiful  -grove;  then 
the  low  hum  of  voices  was  heard  from  the  crowd  of 
people  congregated  under  the  trees,  and  on  the  banks 
of  the  river. 

The  place  of  baptism  was  the  most  beautiful  spot 
in  that  section  of  the  country.  The  river  lay  between 
two  groves.  On  one  side  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
green  banks  and  giant  trees ;  on  the  other,  the  land 
rose  higher,  and  among  the  trees,  down  near  the 
water's  edge,  were  several  huge  rocks.  At  one  end 
the  river  wound  itself  around  shelving  banks,  and 
between  small,  bush-covered  islands,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach ;  at  the  other  it  disappeared  under  an  old, 
gray,  moss-grown  arch  of  stone,  which  helped  to  form 
what  was  called  the  "  stone-bridge  ".  People  stood  on 
both  banks  of  the  river,  and  on  the  bridge.  Some 
stood  in  groups,  others  stood  by  themselves,  or  leaned 
carelessly  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  while  others  sat 


322  MEGDA. 


on  the  rocks.  There  was  not  one  thing  to  mar  the 
beauty  of  the  scene,  and  all  observed  perfect  order. 

The  choir,  consisting  of  "our  girls",  with  Will,  Ed, 
Bert  and  Melvin,  were  already  in  their  places  when 
the  carriage  containing  Meg,  Mrs.  Randal,  Hal  and 
Mr.  Stanley,  entered  the  grove.  They  took  their 
places  at  the  water's  edge,  and  then  a  solemn  stillness 
settled  over  everything.  Meg  was  not  dressed  in 
white;  she  wore  one  of  the  baptismal  robes.  The 
deep  black  made  her  face  look  like  marble.  People 
looked  at  her  anxiously,  and  asked  each  other  if  she 
were  going  to  faint. 

Meg  could  hardly  realize  that  "our  young  sister", 
who  was  the  burden  of  Mr.  Stanley's  prayer  as 
he  stood  at  the  water's  edge,  was  really  herself;  it 
seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  The  first  hymn  that 
Meg  had  chosen  was,  "Just  as  I  am,  without  one 
plea."  Oh,  how  they  sung  it!  At  first  Meg  stood 
with  her  eyes  cast  down,  but  before  the  second  line 
was  finished,  she  lifted  her  face  to  the  blue  sky,  and 
sang  with  them  out  of  the  very  fullness  of  her  heart. 
At  the  words,  "O,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come,"  she  threw 
aside  the  long  cloak  that  covered  her  robe,  and 
stepped  down  to  where  Mr.  Stanley  was  waiting  for 
her,  hardly  feeling  the  strong  clasp  of  Hal's  hand  on 
hers  as  he  led  her  down. 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  323 

It  was  the  supreme  hour  of  Meg's  life.  Never 
could  she  forget  the  feeling  of  joy  and  happiness,  rest 
and  peace,  that  she  realized  as  she  was  led  out,  firmly 
and  tenderly,  to  a  spot  underneath  an  overhanging 
branch  of  a  huge  oak. 

"  Just  as  I  am,  and  waiting  not, 
To  rid  myself  of  one  dark  blot." 

For  months  and  years  afterward,  whenever  Meg 
heard  that  hymn,  she  seemed  to  feel  again  the  baptis- 
mal waters  close  over  her;  the  deep,  blessed  feeling 
of  rest  and  peace,  joy  and  happiness.  She  said 
once,  "If  I  were  ever  tempted  to  go  astray,  and  I 
should  hear  that  hymn  —  either  played  or  sung  —  it 
would  save  me." 

Not  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  world,  would  she  have 
parted  with  the  memory  of  that  hour.  It  was,  verily, 
"a  foretaste  of  heaven  below"  to  her.  The  choir  of 
youthful  voices  seemed  to  her  like  the  angelic  choir 
of  heaven.  Oh,  no ;  she  would  part  with  anything 
else,  but  never  with  that  blessed  memory,  for  she 
knew  then,  what  was  meant  by  "true  happiness". 

As  it  happened,  Easter  Sunday  was  also  Com- 
munion Sunday,  so  Meg  received  the  right  hand  of 
fellowship  and  partook  of  the  "Sacrament"  on  the 
same  day. 


324  MEGDA. 


Ethel  was  not  at  the  evening  service,  and  Mr.  Stan- 
ley looked  very  grave.  As  Meg  gave  him  her  hand 
on  her  way  out  of  the  church,  he  said  :  "  Would  you 
mind  walking  with  me  to  Ethel's  ?  She  is  not  feeling 
well,  and  wanted  me  to  bring  you  to  her  after  service, 
if  you  would  go." 

"  Yes,  certainly  I  will  go,"  replied  Meg  quickly. 

She  had  no  time  to  say  anything  further  to  him 
just  then,  as  Mr.  Stanley  was  obliged  to  turn  to  the 
others,  so  she  stepped  inside  a  pew  and  waited  for 
him.  After  all  had  passed  out,  Mr.  Stanley  put  on 
his  light  overcoat,  took  his  hat,  and  they  went  out 
together. 

He  was  very  quiet,  and  looked  very  grave.  Meg 
did  not  ask  him  any  question  until  they  had  entered 
the  avenue  that  led  to  Judge  Lawton's  house,  and  then 
she  said : 

"Ethel  is  not  very  ill,  I  hope?" 

Mr.  Stanley  roused  himself  with  a  start.  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  Miss  Meg,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  very 
thoughtless.  I  was  thinking  so  deeply,  and  —  I  do 
feel  very  anxious.  Forgive  me.  No,  Ethel  is  not 
very  ill,  but  she  is  very  weak  and  tired." 

"She  must  feel  quite  badly,  or  she  would  have 
been  at  church." 

"Yes." 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  325 

Meg  felt  very  anxious.  Mr.  Stanley  seemed  so 
very  quiet  and  grave,  and  he  looked  pale. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Meg  did  not  wait  to 
be  announced,  but  went  directly  to  the  family  sitting- 
room.  Judge  Lawton  and  his  wife  were  both  there, 
their  chairs  drawn  close  up  beside  the  sofa  on  which 
Ethel  was  lying.  They  greeted  Meg  kindly  —  she  had 
always  been  a  favorite  there  —  and  made  room  for  her 
beside  Ethel.  Meg  almost  cried  when  she  looked  at 
Ethel. 

Ethel's  face  looked  like  wax  as  it  lay  on  the  crim- 
son pillow.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  bright,  and  she 
breathed  quick  and  short.  Meg  went  tip  to  her,  bent 
over  and  kissed  her.  Ethel  smiled  her  usual  sweet 
smile  and  seemed  glad  to  see  her.  She  held  Meg's 
head  down  a  moment  while  she  whispered,  "  Thank 
God  for  this  day,  Girlie. 

Meg  whispered  back,  "  I  am  so  happy,  Ethel ! " 

Mr.  Stanley  came  up  and  took  his  betrothed's  hand 
in  his.  '  "How  are  you  feeling,  Ethel  ?"  he  asked. 

"Much  better,  Arthur,"  she  answered,  smiling  lov- 
ingly up  into  his  eyes. 

He  seated  himself  beside  her,  still  holding  her  hand 
in  his.  He  hardly  removed  his  eyes  from  her  face  all 
the  time  they  were  there,  and  her  fingers  clung  to 
his  like  a  child's  to  its  father's.  She  did  not  talk 


326  MEGDA. 


much,  but  she  listened  to  the  others.  Her  eyes 
rested  often  on  Meg's  face  with  a  wistful  look. 

When  Meg  rose  to  go,  she  thought  Ethel  looking 
quite  well  —  better  than  she  had  seen  her  for  a  long 
while.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  her  lips  scarlet,  and 
there  was  a  red  spot  on  each  cheek.  She  said  this  to 
Mr.  Stanley  as  they  were  walking  home  together. 
To  her  surprise  he  did  not  share  in  her  relief,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  looked  graver  than  before. 

"She  is  in  her  Heavenly  Father's  care,  Miss 
Meg,"  he  said  reverently.  "I  am  content  to  leave 
her  there;  I  can  trust  him." 

During  the  days  that  followed  Ethel  seemed  to 
grow  frailer  and  weaker.  Her  loving  parents,  almost 
wild  with  anxiety,  took  her  away  with  them  to  some 
rambling  old  farm-house  in  a  quiet  part  of  the  country. 
They  went  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  April.  The  wedding 
had  been  already  set  for  the  twelfth  of  June,  just 
one  year  from  Graduating  Day,  but  the  preparations 
had  been  stopped  when  Ethel  had  become  too  weak 
to  give  any  attention  to  them. 

Ethel  had  preferred  to  have  a  quiet  home-wedding. 
Only  about  fifty  invitations  were  to  be  sent  out.  Meg 
was  to  be  "maid  of  honor",  and  the  dainty  white  lace 
dress,  furnished  by  the  bride,  was  already  completed, 
as  were  also  the  pretty  cap  and  slippers. 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  327 

While  Ethel  was  away,  Meg  went  about  her  daily 
work  with  always  this  prayer  in  her  heart  and  often 
on  her  lips:  "Dear  Father,  spare  her;  do  not  take 
her  from  us." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  never  loved  Ethel  half  so 
well  as  she  did  now. 

Mr.  Stanley  was  with  Ethel  two  days  of  every 
week,  and  he  always  reported  her  condition  first  to 
Meg  on  his  return. 

The  family  had  been  away  three  weeks.  It  was 
now  the  middle  of  May ;  Meg  had  spent  an  unusually 
restless  day  at  the  school,  and  immediately  after  les- 
sons, had  put  on  her  things  and  gone  home.  It  was 
the  day  for  Mr.  Stanley  to  come  from  Ethel,  but  he 

would  not  get  to  L until  half-past  seven,  and  it 

was  now  but  little  after  four.  But  when  at  home,  Meg 
could  not  settle  down  to  any  work,  but  wandered  from 
room  to  room,  taking  up  a  book  only  to  lay  it  down 
again ;  catching  up  a  piece  of  fancy-work  and  throw- 
ing it  again  to  one  side  ;•  now  looking  out  of  this  win- 
dow, now  out  of  that,  until  Elsie  said  : 

"  Put  on  your  hat,  dear,  and  take  a  walk  to  Dell's ; 
the  air  will  do  you  good." 

"I  believe  I  will,"  replied  Meg. 

She  ran  up  to  her  room  to  smooth  her  hair.  On 
her  way  past  the  window  she  looked  out.  A  well- 


328  MEGDA. 


known  form  was  coming  quickly  up  the  street.  Meg 
held  her  breath  as  she  watched  it.  It  was  Mr.  Stan- 
ley. He  was  walking  rapidly  and  looking  eagerly  up 
at  the  windows  as  he  approached.  For  a  moment 
Meg  stood  rooted  to  the  spot ;  something  must  have 
happened  to  send  him  home  at  that  hour.  What 
could  it  be  ? 

Meg  could  not  tell  how  she  ever  reached  the  door, 
but  she  turned  and  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  down  the 
stairs,  opened  the  front  door  and  ran  down  the  walk 
with  both  hands  stretched  pityingly  out,  and  a  very 
white  face. 

But  Mr.  Stanley's  face  was  radiant  with  happiness ; 
his  dark-blue  eyes  shone  with  a  glad  light.  He 
grasped  the  extended  hand  in  both  of  his,  and  said, 
joyously: 

"  Oh,  Meg,  our  darling  is  spared  to  us  ! " 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so  great,  that  Meg 
clung  to  him,  laughing  and  crying  alternately.  He 
soothed  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  baby,  and  when  she 
was  quiet  once  more,  he  told  her  all  the  glad  news. 

For  the  last  week  Ethel  had  surprised  them  all  by 
growing  rapidly  better.  The  doctors  had  told  them 
that  they  need  have  no  further  fear  for  her,  only  she 
must  be  kept  from  any  violent  excitement.  This  was 
a  comparatively  easy  thing  for  them  to  do,  as  Ethel 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  329 

was  not  at  all  of  an  excitable  nature.  Mr.  Stanley 
had  left  her  perfectly  happy  and  very  cheerful,  and 
still  determined  not  to  postpone  her  wedding-day,  as 
the  doctors  had  at  first  advised  her  to. 

"  She  is  just  a  little  superstitious  about  it,"  said  Mr. 
Stanley  with  a  fond,  loving  smile.  "  She  does  not  like 
to  postpone  our  wedding  —  any  more  than  I  do,"  he 
added  laughingly. 

He  was  in  high  spirits,  which  seemed  a  strange 
thing  for  him.  "They  are  coming  home  on  Satur- 
day," he  continued;  "and  that  will  give  them  about 
two  weeks  in  which  to  finish  arrangements !  O 
Meg,"  he  added  earnestly,  "how  good  God  is  ! "  Meg 
could  not  answer  him  ;  the  tears  choked  her  voice ; 
she  only  bowed  her  head  silently. 

This  was  on  Thursday.  On  Saturday  afternoon  at 
four- o'clock,  "our  girls"  and  "young  men"  were  all 
assembled  at  the  station  to  welcome  Ethel  on  her 
return.  And  a  hearty  welcome  indeed  it  was !  They 
had  time  only  to  press  her  hand,  and  bid  her  "wel- 
come home",  before  she  was  assisted  into  her  car- 
riage and  driven  away ;  for  she  was  a  little  tired  with 
her  journey.  But  the  dear  face  smiled  lovingly  back 
to  them  from  the  carriage  window,  and  the  white  hand 
waved  to  them  until  the  carriage  passed  out  of  sight. 

"  She  looks  better  than  I  ever  remember  of  seeing 


330  MEGDA. 


her,"  observed  Melvin,  as  the  young  people  walked 
slowly  home  together. 

"  She  looks  better  than  I  have  seen  her  look  for  a 
long  while,"  said  Dell.  "  There  is  a  healthier  color 
in  her  face  than  I  have  seen  there  for  a  good  many 
weeks." 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking,  Meg?"  asked  Ruth. 

Meg  turned  an  earnest  face  toward  them.  "  I  was 
thinking  of  Mr.  Stanley's  words  to  me  on  the  day  he 
brought  the  glad  news  home.  They  found  an  echo 
in  my  heart  then  and  it  has  been  there  ever  since. 
To-day  I  feel  it  more  than  ever — 'Isn't  God  good  ! ' ' 

They  were  silent  —  their  hearts  too  full  to  speak ; 
but  it  seemed  to  them  all,  that  the  burden  of  every 
song  the  birds  were  singing,  of  every  sigh  of  the 
wind  among  the  branches,  of  every  rustle  of  grass  by 
the  roadside,  was  an  echo  of  the  words  that  Meg  had 

spoken  —  "Isn't  God  good." 

****** 

It  is  the  afternoon  before  Ethel's  wedding-day. 
All  the  girls  have  been  to  see  Ethel,  and  look  at  the 
beautifully-decorated  rooms.  Ethel  wanted  to  have 
all  her  young  friends  about  her  on  this  last  day  of  her 
happy  girlhood — the  girls  to  spend  the  afternoon 
with  her,  and  the  gentlemen  to  come  in  the  evening 
—  but  her  mother  was  afraid  it  would  tire  her  too 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  331 

much,  and  Mr.  Stanley,  too,  objected  to  it  for  the 
same  reason ;  so  she  had  only  had  the  girls  there  for 
an  hour  or  so  of  pleasant  talk,  and  had  a  nice  little 
tea  of  strawberries  and  cream,  cake  and  lemonade 
served  for  them  on  the  side  piazza,  and  then  they  had 
gone  into  the  parlors  and  admired  the  decorations. 

Let  us  look  in  upon  them  before  they  leave,  and 
listen  to  their  talk. 

"  And  this  is  where  you  are  going  to  stand,  Ethel?" 
asked  May,  starting  forward  as  if  to  pass  through  the 
gates  of  flowers,  and  take  her  stand  beneath  the  great 
marriage-bell ;  but  Meg  pulled  her  back. 

" Don't  pass  through,  May,"  she  said.  "No  one 
must  stand  there  but  Ethel." 

Ethel  laughed.  She  was  leaning  back  in  an  easy- 
chair,  watching  her  friends  with  loving  eyes. 

"Are  you  superstitious,  Girlie?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  answered  Meg,  " only  fanciful." 

The  marriage-bell  was  of  solid  white  clove  pinks; 
the  gates  —  one  of  which  was  ajar,  the  other  closed  — 
were  of  roses,  pink  and  white.  Their  perfume  filled 
all  that  part  of  the  large  house.  In  the  background 
was  a  bank  of  moss,  over  which  were  scattered  sprays 
of  lilies  of  the  valley  and  pink  and  white  hyacinths. 
It  was  a  beautiful  sight. 

"  And  you  are  going  to  open  the  gate  for  the  bride 


332  MEGDA. 


and  groom  to  pass  through,  are  you,   Meg?"  asked 
Dell. 

"Let  us  see  you  do  it  now,"  cried  May,  "and 
Laurie  and  I  will  represent  Mr.  Stanley  and  Ethel," 
and  the  merry  girl  drew  Laurie's  hand  within  her 
arm,  and  assumed  a  very  solemn  expression  of 
countenance,  but  there  was  no  smile  on  Meg's  face. 

"I  would  rather  not,  May,"  she  replied,  gravely. 

"How  sober  you  look,  Meg,"  said  Dell,  "anybody 
would  think  it  was  to  be  a  funeral  instead  of  a  wed- 
ding. Ethel,  you  must  order  us  all  out  of  these 
rooms,  or  May  will  be  asking  us  to  go  through  with 
the  marriage  ceremony  next." 

"Well,  and  if  I  should,"  said  May,  forlornly,  "you 
wouldn't  have  the  heart  to  blame  me.  It  is  the  only 
way  I  ever  expect  to  go  through  with  it." 

The  girls  laughed,  and  Dell  said : 

"May  is  quite  reconciled  to  her  fate;  she  has 
decided  in  her  own  mind  that  she  is  to  be  the  'old 
maid  '  of  the  class." 

Much  laughter  and  merry  talk  followed,  and  then 
the  girls  bade  Ethel  "good-by  until  to-morrow  *',  kiss- 
ing her  lovingly  as  they  did  so. 

"What  a  happy  girl  I  am!"  said  Ethel,  as  she 
returned  their  caresses.  "And  fortunate,  too,  in  pos- 
sessing such  friends/' 


JO Y  AND   SORROW.  333 

Meg  stayed  behind,  by  Ethel's  request.  At  six 
o'clock  Mr.  Stanley  came  for  his  ''last  call"  until 
to-morrow,  when  he  would  come,  never  to  leave  her 
again  until  " Death  should  them  part". 

"Arthur,"  said  Ethel,  "I  have  been  asking  Girlie 
if  she  would  not  like  to  see  me  in  my  wedding-dress 
to-night,  and  she  has  positively  forbidden  me  putting 
it  on.  What  do  you  say  ?  Wouldn't  you  like  to  see 
us  both  dressed  up  in  our  '  snowy  costumes  '  ? " 

Never  had  Meg  seen  Ethel  so  merry !  And  nevqr 
had  she  seen  her  look  so  well  and  happy  !  Somehow 
it  made  Meg's  heart  ache  to  watch  her. 

Mr.  Stanley  sprang  to  his  feet  eagerly.  "Oh,  if 
you  only  would,  Ethel !  "  he  said. 

That  was  enough.  Ethel  turned  her  face,  flushed 
and  glowing,  to  Meg.  "Do  you  hear  that,  Girlie? 
Come." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  Meg  rose  with  a  little 
smile.  "You  are  commencing  to  spoil  her  so  soon, 
Mr.  Stanley,"  she  said  reproachfully. 

Mr.  Stanley  laughed  —  such  a  happy  laugh  —  and 
took  up  a  book  to  read  while  he  was  waiting  for 
them. 

In  half  an  hour  they  came  back.  Meg's  dress  was 
white  lace  over  pink  silk.  Her  flowers  were  pink 
hyacinths.  She  looked  lovely,  and  Mr.  Stanley  told 


334  MEGDA. 


her  so,  openly  and  heartily ;  then  he  turned  to  look 
at  his  bride. 

Ethel's  dress  was  an  ivory  white  silk.  Her  wreath 
was  of  orange  blossoms,  her  bouquet  of  orange  blos- 
soms and  white  hyacinths.  Her  fair  hair  gleamed 
like  gold  underneath  the  misty  bridal  veil  of  costly 
lace ;  her  blue  eyes  shone  softly ;  her  lips  were  like  a 
scarlet  line;  a  lovely  pink  color  was  in  her  cheeks. 
Mr.  Stanley  looked  at  her  long  and  earnestly,  and 
then,  oblivious  of  Meg's  presence,  he  took  her  in  his 
arms,  and  held  her  close  to  him. 

"My  wife,"  he  whispered. 

****** 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  as  Meg  was 
dusting  her  room,  her  mother  called  to  her  from  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  "Meg,  come  down." 

Meg  dropped  her  duster,  and  ran  down  the  stairs ; 
something  in  her  mother's  voice  had  startled  her. 
When  she  entered  the  sitting-room,  Hal  came  to  meet 
her  with  a  white  face.  Elsie  was  crying. 

"Oh,  Girlie,"  said  Hal,  with  a  great  sob  in  his 
voice,  "  Ethel  is  "  — 

"Not  dead!"  screamed  Meg. 

"No,  not  dead,  dear,  but  dying." 

Meg  pushed  him  away  from  her  with  both  hands. 
"What  do  you  mean,  Hal?"  she  cried.  "Ethel  can- 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  335 

not  be  dying  —  she  isn't  dying.  How  wicked  in  you 
to  try  to  frighten  me  so." 

"I  am  not  trying  to  frighten  you,  dear,"  said  Hal. 
"It  is  true;  and  she  has  sent  for  you  to  come  to 
her." 

Meg  stood  still  and  looked  first  at  one  and  then  at 
the  other.  Ethel  dying!  Impossible!  She  had 
never  seemed  so  well  as  she  had  last  night  when  Meg 
had  left  her. 

Hal  went  up  to  his  sister,  and  touched  her  gently. 
"  Don't  look  like  that,  dear.  It  is  all  for  the  best." 

"How  was  it,  Hal?  Tell  me,"  she  asked  him 
pitifully. 

"  She  was  taken  suddenly  ill  this  morning  with 
hemorrhage ;  there  is  no  hope  for  her.  But  she  is 
conscious,  and  wants  to  see  you..  Won't  you  come, 
Girlie  ? " 

Meg  shivered.  "Yes,  I  will  come.  But,"  she 
added  with  a  little  passionate  cry,  "don't  call  me  that, 
brother.  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  it.  Oh,  Ethel,  my 
darling,  my  darling  ! " 

At  the  avenue  gates  Hal  stooped  and  looked  anx- 
iously at  Meg.  "I  think  I  will  not  go  in,  dear,"  he 
said. 

He  was  going  to  ask  her  if  she  felt  that  she  was 
sufficiently  self-controlled  to  see  Ethel,  but  the 


336  MEGDA. 


expression  of  her  face  answered  him  better  than  words 
could  have  done.  It  was  as  white  as  snow,  but  per- 
fectly calm. 

Hal  kissed  her  tenderly  and  left  her.  Meg  entered 
the  great,  silent  house  alone.  Oh,  what  a  difference 
from  yesterday ! 

As  she  passed  the  parlor  doors,  a  sweet,  delicate 
perfume  floated  past  her.  It  was  the  scent  of  the 
roses,  pinks  and  hyacinths.  Meg  ran  through  the  hall 
and  up  the  stairs ;  she  could  not  bear  the  sweet, 
heavy  perfume. 

At  Ethel's  door  she  stopped,  for  she  heard  Ethel's 
voice,  weak  but  clear.  She  was  pleading  with  some 
one,  tenderly  and  earnestly.  Meg  heard  her  say, 
"  Promise  me,"  then  a  heavy  sob,  and  she  knew  it  was 
with  her  father  that  Ethel  was  pleading. 

Meg  turned  away,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the 
wall.  In  a  few  moments  the  door  was  opened  and 
Judge  Lawton  came  out,  sobbing  like  a  child,  and 
leaning  heavily  on  his  wife's  shoulder.  Neither  of 
them  saw  Meg  —  their  eyes  were  blinded  by  their 
tears. 

They  passed  down  the  stairs,  and  entered  the 
library,  and  then  a  large,  stout  man  came  out  of 
Ethel's  room,  whom  Meg  at  once  recognized  as  the 
great  Dr.  L of  B — • — .  He  was  wiping  his  eyes 


JO Y  AND   SORROW,  337 

on  his  handkerchief,  but  he  caught  sight  of  Meg  and 
went  to  her  at  once. 

"Are  you  Miss  Randal  ?"  he  asked. 

Meg  bowed. 

"  She  is  waiting  for  you.  You  had  better  go  right 
in." 

He  opened  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and  Meg  passed 
into  the  room. 

Ethel  was  lying  on  the  bed,  her  face  as  white  as 
the  pillow  on  which  it  rested,  her  fair  hair  surround- 
ing it  like  a  golden  cloud.  She  smiled  when  she  saw 
Meg  and  held  out  a  white  hand.  Meg  had  to  bend 
her  head  to  hear  what  she  said. 

"  Girlie,  I  have  only  a  few  words  to  say  to  you : 
lam  very  tired,  and  it  —  is  —  almost  —  time  —  for  — 
me  —  to  —  go;  but  never  —  forget  —  what  —  I  —  say, 
will  —  you  ?" 

"I  never  will,  Ethel." 

" Thank  you,  dear;  I  have  always  loved  you  very 
dearly,  Girlie.  You  have  seemed  like  a  sister  to  me, 
I  am  going  away  from  you  all,  but  it  will  only  be  for 
a  little  while.  We  shall  meet  again.  Girlie,  will  you 
promise  me  one  thing?" 

"I  will  promise  you  anything,  Ethel." 

"Will  you  take  up  my  work  where  I  leave  off,  and 
go  on  with  it  for  me  —  my  religious  work,  I  mean  ?" 


338  MEGDA. 


Meg  did  not  falter  for  a  second.  "  I  will  do  what  I 
can,  Ethel,  I  promise  you." 

"Thank  you,  Girlie." 

Ethel  was  quiet  for  a  few  moments,  then  she  said : 
"Kiss  me  now,   Girlie,  but  do  not  leave  me.     Give 
my  last  love  to  the  girls  — and  tell  —  them  —  we  — 
shall  —  meet  —  again  —  up  —  there. " 

Meg  kissed  the  white  face  lingeringly  and  lovingly, 
and  when  she  raised  her  head  Mr.  Stanley  had  entered 
the.  room,  and  was  standing  at  the  bedside.  His  face 
was  white  and  drawn  with  suffering,  and  his  blue  eyes 
dark  with  pain.  He  bent  over  Ethel  in  speechless 
grief,  and  Meg  slipped  from  her  place  beside  the  pil- 
low and  stole  softly  to  the  window.  She  would  have 
left  the  room,  but  Ethel  asked  her  not  to. 

Meg  never  forgot  that  scene.  It  didn't  seem  as  if 
Ethel  were  dying ;  she  and  Arthur  talked  together  as 
if  it  were  a  parting  for  a  few  days  or  weeks  at 
most.  Meg  did  not  know  what  a  restraint  Arthur 
was  putting  upon  his  feelings,  that  he  might  talk  to 
Ethel  quietly  and  calmly.  A  feeling  of  awe  stole  over 
Meg  as  she  listened  to  the  low  voices.  Ethel  put  up 
her  hand  now  and  then,  and  brushed  the  heavy,  dark 
hair  away  from  Arthur's  forehead,  and  he  smiled 
down  into  the  large,  blue  eyes  tenderly  and  lovingly. 

"I  am  going,  Arthur,  but  —  it  —  won't  —  be  —  for 


JOY  AND   SORROW.    .  339 

—  long ;  only  —  just  a  little  —  while  —  before.  I  will 
—  wait  —  for  —  you  —  and  —  watch  for  you.  You  — 
Kvill  —  come  —  soon,  Arthur?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling ;  when  I  have  finished  the  work 
He  has  set  for  me  to  do  here." 

She  gazed  up  into  his  face  with  yearning  eyes,  and 
the  first  cry  broke  from  her  lips.  "  Oh,  Arthur,  how 
can  I  leave  you ! " 

Meg  crept  from  the  room,  unable  longer  to  bare 
the  sight.  Ethel  did  not  see  her  go ;  she  saw  only 
the  face  bending  over  her,  unutterable  love  and 
anguish  in  the  dark-blue  eyes.  It  was  his  turn  to 
soothe  her. 

"It  is  only  for  a  little  while,  my  darling  —  my 
wife." 

A  look  of  ineffable  joy  passed  over  her  face  as  he 
called  her  by  that  dear  name;  then  her  face  grew 
suddenly  gray  — the  shade  of  death  was  passing 
quickly  over  it.  Arthur  saw  it,  and  clasped  his  arms 
tightly  around  her  as  if  to  hold  her  from  the  cruel 
grasp  of  Death,  but  she  only  smiled  sweetly  up  at 
him.  Ethel  was  dying  the  death,  as  she  had  lived 
the  life,  of  a  Christian. 

"Only  —  a  little  —  while  —  before,"  she  whispered 
dreamily.  "  Then  —  no  —  more  —  parting,  —  Ar  " 

The  word  died  on  her  lips.     She  turned  her  head 


340  MEGDA. 


slowly  until  her  cheek  rested  against  his ;  and  thus, 

lying  upon  his  breast,  she  fell  asleep. 

****** 

Meg  was  lying  on  her  bed.  She  had  cried  until 
she  could  cry  no  more.  It  was  early  twilight  of  the 
day  on  which  she  had  looked  for  the  last  time  here 
below  on  Ethel's  fair,  lovely  face.  It  seemed  so  sad, 
so  sad !  Sadder  than  anything  she  had  ever  heard  or 
even  read  of.  To  die  on  her  wedding-day,  and  just 
one  year  from  the  day  on  which  they  had  all  sat 
together  in  the  dear  " study",  the  day  before  gradu- 
ating day,  and  talked  together  lovingly  and  earnestly, 
and  sung  the  ''Class  Song"  with  clasped  hands. 

The  second  link  in  the  golden  chain  was  broken. 
The  "class"  had  stood  together  around  the  open 
casket  at  the  grave,  and  as  they  sang  sadly  and  tear- 
fully, "Asleep  in  Jesus,  blessed  sleep,"  dropped  each 
a  white  hyacinth  (Ethel's  favorite  flower)  on  the 
lovely  form. 

How  beautiful  Ethel  had  looked !  She  was  dressed 
in  her  wedding-dress  —  veil,  wreath  and  all.  During 
the  service  at  the  house,  the  casket  had  stood  between 
the  rose-covered  gates,  through  which  she  should  have 
passed,  a  breathing,  happy  bride. 

Mr.  Stanley's  grief  had  been  something  terrible  in 
its  speechless,  unnatural  calm,  but  no  one  had  dared 


JOY  AND  SORROW.  341 

to  offer  a  word  of  comfort.  They  knew  he  was  seek- 
ing and  would  find  comfort  from  the  only  true  source, 
that  of  the  all-seeing,  all-wise  and  all-merciful  Father. 
With  Him  let  us  leave  him,  trying  to  say  with  sub- 
missive resignation,  "The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord 
taketh  away.  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

"Asleep  in  Jesus,  blessed  sleep ! 
From  which  none  ever  wake  to  weep. 
A  calm  and  undisturbed  repose 
Unbroken  by  the  least  of  woes." 


342  MEGDA. 


XXIII. 

•" 

AT  REST. 

ONE  year  later.  The  Randal  family  are  gathered 
around  their  tea-table  —  Mrs.  Randal,  Elsie, 
Hal  and  Meg.  One  other  is  there,  too ;  a  small, 
slender,  black-robed  form  —  a  pretty,  pale  face  from 
which  all  the  roses  are  fled,  leaving  only  lilies  there  — t 
and  fluffy,  golden  hair.  The  large  blue  eyes  are  sad 
and  wistful,  but  the  expression  of  the  sweet  face  is 
one  of  patient  suffering  and  undying  trust. 

Laurie,  doubly  orphaned,  has  found  a  peaceful 
home  here. 

Six  months  before  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  Decem- 
ber, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ray  had  started  on  a  trip  to  Bos- 
ton, to  visit  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Ray's  who  had  been  taken 
suddenly  ill.  Laurie  was  to  stay  with  Meg  while 
they  were  gone,  and  a  happy  time  they  had  planned 
to  have.  Laurie  will  never  forget  how  she  stood  on 
the  old  stone  porch  and  kissed  her  father  and  mother 
good-by.  Ah,  not  one  of  them  thought  it  was  the 
last  " good-by"  on  earth. 


AT  REST.  343 


Mrs.  Ray  had  been  very  loth  to  leave  her  one  "little 
ewe  lamb"  for  even  so  short  a  time  as  two  weeks, 
and  she  had  held  her  to  her  closely  and  lovingly  while 
she  gave  her  her  last  injunctions  with  a  kiss  between 
every  word.  But  father  Ray  had  patted  Laurie's 
golden  head,  and  said  soothingly : 

"It  won't  be  for  long,  mother,  that  we  will  leave 
her,  and  we  know  she  is  safe  at.  all  times.  We  have 
no  need  to  fear." 

And  Laurie  had  sent  them  away  with  laughing 
promises  "  to  be  a  good  girl,  and  not  drive  Mrs.  Ran- 
dal quite  crazy". 

"If  you  have  her  son"  interposed  father  Ray  slyly; 
whereat  Laurie  had  gathered  up  some  snow  in  her 
hands  and  thrown  it  at  him,  and  he  had  dodged  it, 
and  so,  laughing  and  looking  at  their  darling  over 
their  shoulder,  the  father  and  mother  had  gone  away ; 
gone  away  from  her,  never  to  return. 

Laurie  attended  to  the  few  duties  that  remained  for 
her  to  do,  then  put  on  her  wraps,  locked  up  the  house, 
and  went  to  Meg's.  It  was  the  Christmas  holidays,  so 
Meg  would  be  at  home  during  the  two  weeks  that 
Laurie  was  with  them. 

The  two  weeks  passed  rapidly  and  gaily  by.  Then 
came  a  letter  from  Laurie's  father  and  mother,  telling 
Laurie  that  she  might  expect  them  home  on  Thurs- 


344  MEGDA. 


day.  This  was  on  Wednesday  mo'rning.  That  after- 
noon Laurie  and  Meg  went  to  the  old  stone  house, 
made  fires,  dusted  rooms,  and  did  some  really  fine 
cooking. 

Thursday  just  before  lamplight,  they  sat  in  the 
large,  dusky  kitchen,  each  one  at  a  window,  and 
waited  for  the  sound  of  the  sleigh-bells  that  would 
announce  the  dear  ones  coming.  It  had  commenced 
to  snow  —  great,  white  flakes  that  floated  lazily  and 
noiselessly  down  from  the  gray  clouds.  Laurie  got 
up  and  went  to  the  mantle  for  a  lamp. 

"I'll  put  a  light  in  the  window,  Meg,"  she  said, 
"and  they'll  see  it  way  down  the  road." 

Ah,  Laurie,  even  then  their  eyes  were  being  daz- 
zled by  a  light  brighter  than  the  noon-day. 

The  two  girls  sat  and  waited,  hardly  realizing  how 
swiftly  the  time  was  passing.  The  table  stood  ready, 
the  fire  burned  brightly  on  the  hearth,  the  tea-kettle 
sang  cheerily  on  the  hob;  eight  o'clock  sounded  — 
muffled  and  made  indistinct  by  the  rising  storm. 
Both  girls  started  to  their  feet. 

"  Eight  o'clock !     What  can  be  the  matter,  Meg." 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Meg  with  a  pale  face. 

She  had  had  one  of  her  "presentiments  of  coming 
misfortune"  that  forenoon,  but  she  had  said  nothing 
about  it,  partly  because  she  did  not  want  to  cause 


AT  REST.  345 


Laurie  any  uneasiness,  and  partly  because  she  had 
determined  in  her  own  mind,  not  to  have  any  further 
faith  in  these  "presentiments";  but  now  she  could 
not  help  thinking  of  it,  and  her  heart  sank  as  she  did 
so. 

"I  haven't  heard  the  train  come  in,  have  you, 
Meg?"  said  Laurie,  pressing  her  face  against  the  win- 
dow-pane, and  putting  her  hands  up  that  she  might 
see  out. 

"No,"  answered  Meg,  doing  the  same  thing,  though 
hardly  realizing  what  she  did.  "But  it  may  have 
come,  and  we  not  have  heard  it." 

"Yes;  but  it  is  due  at  half-past  six,  and  here  it  is 
after  eight." 

"But,  Laurie,"  said  Meg  soothingly,  "it  may  have 
been  delayed  at  the  other  end  of  the  line.  We  might 
take  a  walk  to  the  station ;  I  suppose  John  would 
stay  there  with  the  sleigh  until  the  train  came,  if  he 
waited  all  night." 

Laurie  smiled  feebly  at  the  jest. 

"Come,  dear,"  continued  Meg  cheerfully,  "we  are 
not  afraid  of  a  little  snow,  and  any  kind  of  truth  is 
better  than  suspense." 

Laurie  turned  away  from  the  window,  and  went 
obediently  to  the  entry  for  her  hat  and  jacket.  Just 
then  the  sound  of  bells,  close  to  the  house,  fell  on 


346  MEGDA. 


their  ears.  Meg  started  for  the  door,  but  before  she 
could  get  there,  Laurie  had  run  swiftly  past  her,  and 
when  Meg  reached  the  porch,  was  half  way  to  the 
gate  —  a  small,  slender  figure  with  the  snow-flakes  fall- 
ing upon  it. 

There  were  two  persons  in  the  sleigh  —  two  men. 
One  of  them  sprang  from  it  before  it  stopped,  and 
reached  the  small  figure  at  a  bound.  It  was  Hal. 
He  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  half  led,  half  carried 
her  into  the  house.  He  did  not  speak  until  all  three 
stood  in  the  kitchen.  Meg  looked  into  his  face  anx- 
iously, as  the  light  of  the  lamp  fell  upon  it,  and  her 
heart  beat  quickly  at  the  whiteness  of  it  —  the  look 
of  tender  love  and  pity  in  the  blue  eyes  as  they  rested 
upon  Laurie, 

Hal  was  hoping  to  have  seen  Meg  alone  first,  but 
Laurie  was  there,  and  must  be  told.  After  all,  per- 
haps it  was  better  for  her  to  hear  it  from  him.  She 
looked  up  into  his  face  —  her  own  was  as  white  as  the 
snow  falling  outside,  but  Meg's  eyes  could  not  have 
oeen  raised  more  bravely,  more  courageously. 

"What  is  it,  Hal?"  she  asked,  her  voice  low  but 
firm.  "Tell  me;  do  not  be  afraid." 

Hal's  eyes  filled  as  he  looked  at  her.  "Oh,  my 
darling,  if  I  could  only  bear  it  for  you  ! "  That  was 
all  he  said. 


AT  REST.  347 


"  Is  it  papa  ? "  she  asked  quietly. 

Meg  looked  at  her  in  surprise ;  she  had  expected  a 
storm  of  tears. 

Hal  nodded.  "Poor  mama!"  she  said  pityingly. 
"Where  is  she,  Hal?" 

Oh,  how  could  he  tell  her ! 

"Where  is  mama,  Hal?"  she  repeated. 

"She  is  with  him,  darling." 

"Yes,  of  course,  but  —  where  are  they  ? " 

"  They  are  both  in  heaven,  dear  Laurie  ;  don't  "  — 

Both  Hal  and  Meg  sprang  forward  to  catch  the 
swaying  little  form,  but  she  steadied  herself  in  a 
moment,  and  held  them  back.  Oh,  how  white  the 
small  face  was!  How  full  of  terror  the  large,  blue 
eyes !  The  watching  eyes  filled,  and  the  loving 
hearts  ached  for  her. 

"It  is  God's  will,  Laurie,"  said  Hal,  longing  to 
comfort  her  and  hardly  knowing  how. 

"Yes,  I  know.     Tell  me  all  about  it,  I  am  strong." 

Not  one  word  could  Meg  say.  She  could  only  hold 
one  of  the  small  hands  closely  in  hers,  and  keep  her 
eyes  on  the  white  face. 

There  had  been  an  accident  half  way  up  the  line  to 
Boston.  The  accident  had  occurred  about  half-past 
five,  an  hour  before  the  train  was  due.  Hal  had 
heard  of  it  while  at  his  office,  and  gone  directly  to  the 


348  MEGDA. 


station.  He  had  taken  the  seven  o'clock  train  out 
to  make  sure  of  everything  before  alarming  Laurie. 
The  train  had  stopped  a  few  yards  away  from  the 
place  of  accident.  The  engine  to  the  ill-fated  train 
lay  over  on  its  side  like  a  huge,  tired-out  monster; 
the  first  and  second  cars  were  a  mass  of  ruins ;  people 
were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  lifting  a  timber  here,  mov- 
ing a  seat  there,  the  lanterns  they  carried  gleaming 
through  the  falling  snow  like  great  fire-flies.  Groans 
and  screams  were  heard  as  bodies  were  tenderly 
lifted  and  carried  to  some  place  of  shelter;  but 
alas,  from  some  carefully-lifted  bodies  no  screams  or 
groans  came  —  they  were  far  beyond  all  such  signs  of 
suffering. 

Hal  went  to  work  at  once,  helping  to  remove  the 
debris,  and  to  carry  the  dead  and  wounded,  and  all  the 
time  he  was  looking  keenly  about  him.  Before  look- 
ing into  each  face  he  turned  to  the  light  of  the  lantern, 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  murmured  this  prayer :  "  Oh, 
God,  be  merciful.  Spare  my  darling." 

But  at  last  he  came  to  two  forms  lying  still  and 
motionless  under  one  of  the  heavy  iron  seats  —  their 
faces  pressed  close  together,  hand  clasped  in  hand. 
When  Hal  saw  them  thus,  he  knew  who  they  were 
before  looking  into  their  faces.  He  sank  on  his  knees 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  God  help  her," 


AT  REST.  349 


he  moaned.  But  when  he  turned  the  faces  toward 
him,  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  grieve  for 
them ;  so  peaceful,  so  restful,  so  supremely  happy 
they  looked.  "Gone  home  together,"  he  thought. 
"What  a  blessed  thing  for  them,  but  what  a  terrible 
thing  for  her!" 

Hal  and  Meg  looked  with  wondering  eyes  at  Lau- 
rie, as  she  listened  to  what  Hal  told  her.  No  violent 
burst  of  weeping,  no  cries,  no  lamentations,  only  a 
deathly  face  and  large,  wide-open  eyes.  When  he 
finished,  she  bowed  her  head,  and  they  knew  she  was 
praying. 

Meg  longed  to  comfort  her,  but  she  could  find  no 
words  to  say  to  her.  All  that  long  night  she  held 
her  in  her  arms,  but  not  one  word  passed  between 
them. 

The  next  morning  the  bodies  were  brought  to  the 
old  stone  house,  and  laid  side  by  side  in  the  large,  dim, 
dusky  parlor.  Laurie  crept  in  after  them,  the  people 
closed  the  door  and  left  her  there,  alone  with  her 
dead,  and  with  her  God. 

Meg  stayed  away  from  her  a  whole  hour,  and  then 
could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  started  to  go  to  the 
parlor  and  met  Laurie  on  the  threshold  coming  out. 
An  expression  of  peace  rested  on  the  small,  pale  face, 
looking  so  wan  and  drawn  after  the  night's  suffering, 


350  MEGDA. 


and  the  blue  eyes  were  filled  with  a  tranquil  light. 
The  loving  words  of  pity  on  Meg's  lips  died  away  as 
she  looked.  Laurie  put  her  hand  in  hers. 

"Whom  He  loveth,  He  chasteneth,  Meg,"  was  all 
she  said ;  but  at  the  words,  all  Meg's  pride  and  self- 
esteem  passed  away  like  mist  before  the  sun  —  passed 
away,  never  to  return,  and  gave  place  to  a  sense  of 
unworthiness  and  deep  humility,  which  she  had  never 
felt  before.  She  had  murmured  against  the  will  of 
Almighty  God,  and  what  had  her  suffering  been  com- 
pared with  Laurie's?  Mr.  Stanley's  words  of  pro- 
phecy had  come  true.  Laurie  had  proven  herself  the 
stronger  of  the  two.  Meg  felt  humbled  and  ashamed. 
She  felt  that  between  herself  and  Laurie  there  could 
be  no  comparison.  Hereafter  Laurie  was  the  one  to 
be  "  looked  up  "  to,  not  herself. 

After  the  funeral  Meg  had  taken  Laurie  home  with 
her,  and  there  she  had  remained  ever  since.  Her 
father  had  left  her  with  money  enough  to  make  her 
independent  all  her  life;  she  need  never  be  obliged 
to  do  any  kind  of  work.  The  old  stone  house,  with 
its  handsome,  heavy  furniture,  was  her  own.  At  first 
she  had  thought  of  having  some  good,  middle-aged 
woman  to  live  with  her  as  a  companion  and  house- 
keeper, but  she  could  not  bear,  just  now,  to  stay  in 
the  house  where  all  her  happy,  careless,  untroubled 


AT  REST.  351 


girlhood  had  been  spent.  Many  homes  were  open  to 
her.  Judge  Lawton  and  his  wife  entreated  her  to 
make  her  home  with  them,  but  she  refused  them  all, 
gently  and  gratefully,  and  went  home  with  Meg. 
But,  on  one  condition  only,  would  she  live  with  them : 
"that  they  would  accept  a  remuneration  from  her." 
In  vain  Meg  proudly  refused  it.  Laurie  was  proud, 
too,  and  remained  firm. 

"But  you  are  the  same  as  my  sister,  Laurie.  I 
love  you  as  I  do  Elsie ;  and  you  will  be  my  sister  in 
reality  some  day,"  Meg  said,  as  a  last  argumentation. 

Laurie  had  smiled  and  blushed,  but  still  remained 
firm,  and  Meg  was  obliged  to  succomb. 

She  had  been  with  them  now  six  months,  and  Meg 
loved  and  respected  her  more  and  more  every  day. 
She  was  learning  from  her  —  Meg  was  learning  from 
Laurie  —  the  grand  lesson  of  faith  and  submission  to 
His  will;  learning  to  bear  with  patience  the  little 
trials  and  cares  and  disappointments  of  every-day 
life. 

To-night  as  they  sit  around  the  tea-table,  each  face 
reflects  the  peaceful  happiness  that  each  one  feels. 
Laurie  has  never  troubled  them  with  any  outward  dis- 
play of  grief.  Sad  she  has  looked  many  times,  but 
never  sullen  and  fretful ;  never  has  complained  of  "the 
hard  way  in  which  God  had  dealt  with  her". 


352  MEGDA. 


"It  seems  a  long  time  to  look  forward  to,"  Meg  is 
saying,  "but  it  will  soon  pass.  You  must  not  be  so 
selfish,  Hal ;  we  cannot  spare  her  yet." 

Hal  looked  across  the  table  at  the  pretty,  blushing 
face  of  his  "fiancee".  To  Hal,  Laurie  seemed  but  lit- 
tle lower  than  the  angels.  He  had  always  loved  her  — 
ever  since  she  was  a  little  child  —  but  her  life,  as  he 
had  seen  it  daily  for  the  last  six  months,  had  deepened 
his  love  into  almost  adoration. 

"And  I  cannot  live  without  her  any  longer,"  he 
replied  to  Meg's  last  remark. 

"What  a  boy!  Aren't  you  living  with  her  now?" 
asked  Meg  a  little  scornfully. 

"Yes,  but  I  want  her  all  to  myself." 

Meg  looked  at  him  pityingly  for  a  moment,  then 
said,  sententiously :  "  You  cannot  help  it,  poor  thing ! 
It  is  the  nature  of  your  sex." 

"What  is?"  asked  Hal. 

"Selfishness,"  replied  Meg  dryly. 

Laurie  laughed.  "You  shall  not  call  my  boy 
names,  Meg,"  she  said. 

Meg  dropped  her  fork  and  leaned  back  in  her 
chair.  "Enough,"  she  said.  "You  are  both  beyond 
any  help  from  me." 

"After  all,"  said  Elsie  in  her  low,  quiet  voice,  "it 
is  just  as  Laurie  says." 


AT  REST.  353 


Hal  looked  at  her  with  a  bright  smile.  "  Rightly 
said,  sister.  It  shall  be  as  Laurie  says." 

Laurie  looked  down  on  her  plate,  and  did  not 
speak.  The  discussion  was  upon  her  marriage  with 
Hal.  Hal  was  urging  her  to  be  married  in  October. 
Although  it  would  only  be  nine  months  since  her 
parent's  death,  yet  he,  as  well  as  his  mother  and 
Elsie  —  yes,  and  Laurie  too — did  not  think  that  need 
make  any  difference.  She  was  alone;  she  was 
engaged  to  Hal ;  her  parents  had  long  looked  on  him 
as  their  son,  and  the  husband  of  their  child.  They 
had  given  their  consent  to  the  engagement  freely  and 
gladly.  Laurie  knew  that  if  they  were  there  to  tell 
her  what  to  do,  they  would  tell  her  to  comply  with 
Hal's  request ;  to  do  what  she,  herself,  had  really 
decided  upon  doing. 

Mrs.  Randal  and  Elsie  approved  of  it,  fully,  though 
they  were  in  no  hurry  to  lose  Laurie.  Meg,  alone, 
opposed  it ;  but  the  only  reason  why  she  did  so,  as 
they  all  knew,  was  because  she  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  having  Laurie  go  from  them.  She  loved 
her  with  her  whole  heart ;  loved  her  for  her  own 
invaluable  little  self,  and  for  the  many  lessons  that 
she  had  been  unconsciously  teaching  her.  And  Lau- 
rie returned  her  love  in  full  —  when  had  she  ever 
done  anything  else  but  love  her?  —  and  dreaded  to 


354  MEGDA. 

leave  her  as  much  as  Meg  dreaded  to  have  her  go. 
She  hesitated  to  answer  Hal  now,  because  she  knew 
that  in  so  doing,  she  would  pain  Meg. 

"Well,  Laurie?" 

It  was  Hal  who  spoke.  He  was  smiling,  but  his 
tone  was  a  little  impatient  —  he  wanted  her  to  answer 
him. 

Laurie  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  wistfully  at  Meg. 
Meg  read  the  answer  in  them,  and  it  sent  a  pang 
through  her  heart,  but  she  said,  gaily : 

"Oh,  never  mind  .me,  Laurie.  I  will  withdraw 
all  opposition.  Be  merciful  to  Hal  and  shorten  his 
agony.  Don't  you  see  how  suspense  is  torturing 
him?" 

Laurie  gave  her  a  swift,  grateful  smile,  then  looked 
at  Hal.  "It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  Hal,"  she  said. 

The  Summer  months  passed  swiftly  away  —  July, 
August,  September  —  and  brought  beautiful  October, 
the  best  month  of  all  the  twelve.  The  wedding  was 
to  be  on  the  twenty-second.  It  was  to  be  very  quiet ; 
they  were  not  even  going  away.  The  ceremony  was 
to  be  performed  at  Laurie's  own  home,  in  the  pres- 
ence only  of  relatives,  and  the  "class".  The  hour 
was  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  There  would  be  no 
reception,  only  a  short  half-hour  for  pleasant  talk,  and 
then  the  guests  would  go  away,  and  leave  the  young, 


AT  REST.  355 


newly-married  couple  in  their  large,  rambling  old 
stone  house. 

As  the  wedding-day  approached,  Meg  felt  a  feeling 
of  sadness  creeping  over  her.  She  could  not  help 
thinking  of  that  other  wedding  that  "was  to  have 
been"  eighteen  months  before.  Meg  missed  Ethel 
more  and  more  every  day.  She  had  taken  up  the 
"good  work"  that  had  been  begun  by  her,  and  had 
done  her  best  in  filling  the  empty  place.  Her  efforts 
had  even  thus  early  proved  most  successful.  There 
had  been  a  growing  interest  in  the  Y.  P.  C.  E.  meet- 
ings from  the  time  of  her  support  of  them,  and  much 
praise  was  given  to  her  for  the  result  of  her  earnest 
efforts.  When  she  felt  any  feeling  of  pride  arising  in 
her  heart  over  these  expressions,  she  would  whisper 
to  herself:  "All  to  the  glory  of  God.  All  to  the 
glory  of  God." 

Mr.  Stanley  had  changed  scarcely  any.  During 
the  first  twelve  months  after  Ethel's  death,  his  face 
had  worn  the  marks  of  a  great  sorrow,  and  a  great 
struggle.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  grown  ten  years 
older,  but  he  was  kind  and  pleasant  with  everyone,  as 
he  had  always  been.  That  he  had  suffered  intensely 
was  plainly  apparent  to  everyone,  but  he  had  never 
complained  to  a  single  person.  During  the  past  Sum- 
mer months  he  had  seemed  more  cheerful ;  never  gay, 


356  MEGDA. 


for  that  was  not  his  nature,  but  several  times,  lately, 
when  he  had  been  talking  with  Meg,  and  she  had 
made  one  of  her  bright,  witty  remarks,  she  had  seen 
him  glance  at  her  as  if  in  appreciation  of  her  laughing 
jest  with  the  merry  sparkle  in  his  dark,  blue  eyes  that 
she  had  seen  in  the  days  before  Ethel's  death.  He 
did  not  make  any  open  preference  for  Meg's  society, 
and  still  he  showed  her  plainly  in  a  hundred  little 
ways  when  with  her,  that  he  enjoyed  being  with  her 
very  much.  For  her  —  she  loved  him  with  her  whole 
heart,  respected  him  above  anyone  she  had  ever 
known,  and  trusted  him  fully. 

The  day  of  the  wedding  dawned.  It  was  a  perfect 
day.  Meg  went  around  the  house  with  a  smiling  face 
when  Laurie  was  near,  but  with  a  very  sober  one  when 
by  herself.  She  dressed  the  pretty,  fair  bride  herself. 
Laurie's  dress  was  very  simple,  but  rich.  When  she 
was  dressed,  Meg  gave  her  the  very  best  compli- 
ment anyone  could,  under  the  circumstances. 

"You  make  an  ideal  bride,  Laurie,"  she  said,  and 
spoke  truly. 

Laurie's  dress  was  soft,  white  mull  of  the  finest 
quality,  made  entraine.  Her  veil  was  of  rich  lace  and 
fell  in  folds  to  the  floor.  Her  wreath  was  of  orange 
blossoms ;  her  bouquet  of  the  same  and  lilies  of  the 
valley.  Her  sweet  face  was  as  white  as  the  lilies,  and 


AT  REST.  357 


as  pure;  her  blue  eyes  shone  brightly  through  her 
veil,  and  the  pretty,  soft,  fluffy  "bangs"  glistened  like 
golden  threads.  No  wonder  Hal  looked  as  if  (as  Meg 
said)  "he  could  eat  her". 

Meg  wore  nile-green  with  pink  tea-roses.  The 
other  girls  looked  very  fair  and  winsome  in  their 
pretty,  softly-colored  dresses. 

Meg  looked  at  Mr.  Stanley  with  wistful,  pitying 
eyes,  as  he  took  his  place  before  the  young  couple. 
His  face  was  so  pale  and  grave,  and  there  was  such 
a  sad  look  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"How  he  must  suffer!"  thought  Meg,  her  heart 
aching  for  him.  "  Laurie  looks  as  lovely  as  a  dream, 
but  not  as  Ethel  looked.  Oh,  no ;  there  will  never  be 
so  lovely  a  bride  as  our  darling  made.  Oh,  why  could 
she  not  have  lived  !  " 

Meg  had  asked  that  question  many  times ;  it 
seemed  to  her  whenever  she  looked  at  Mr.  Stanley's 
pale,  sad  face,  that  she  would  gladly,  have  given  her 
life  for  Ethel's  if  she  could  have  done  so. 

After  the  ceremony  there  was  an  hour  of  pleasant 
talk,  and  then  the  guests  went  away  and  left  the 
young  husband  and  wife  together. 

"What  a  very  pleasant  time! "  said  Dell  to  Meg,  as 
they  stood  in  the  guest  chamber  putting  on  their 
wraps. 


358  MEGDA. 


Meg  smiled  assent. 

"Mr.  Stanley  was  very  pale,"  continued  Dell.  "I 
suppose  he  was  thinking  of  Ethel,  don't  you  ? " 

"Yes,"  answered  Meg. 

"What  a  sad  thing  that  was,"  murmured  Dell 
musingly ;  and  Meg  cried  passionately  :  . 

"  I  hope  I  may  never  realize  a  sadder ! " 


MRS.   STANLEY.  359 


XXIV. 

MRS.   STANLEY. 

THREE  years  later,  and  once  more,  the  twelfth  of 
June.  Just  four  years  from  the  day  of  Ethel's 
wedding-day  and  death. 

Meg,  Dell,  Laurie  and  May,  are  gathered  in  Lau- 
rie's large,  cool,  shady  parlor.  The  long  windows 
leading  out  upon  the  verandah,  are  open,  and  a  gentle 
breeze  is  swaying  the  lace  curtains  to  and  fro,  and 
lifting  the  soft,  fluffy  "bangs"  from  Meg's  white 
forehead,  as  she  half  sits,  half  lies  upon  the  floor, 
bending  over  a  tiny,  white-robed  form  with  a  small, 
white  face,  large  blue  eyes,  and  little  rings  of  golden 
hair  —  Laurie's  six  months'  baby-girl  —  little  Meg. 

She  is  lying  upon  a  handsome,  brightly-colored 
silk  quilt  of  " crazy"  work,  one  of  Auntie  Meg's 
numerous  gifts  to  her  dear  little  namesake,  and  made 
by  Auntie  Meg's  own  loving  hands.  Laurie,  look- 
ing very  little  like  a  " mother",  sits  in  a  low 


360  MEGDA. 


rocking-chair,  with  some  dainty  lace-work  (for  one 
of  " baby's"  dresses,  of  course)  in  her  hands,  and 
looks  at  the  pretty  picture  on  the  floor  before  her, 
every  now  and  then.  Dell,  lovely  as  ever,  is  lying 
back  in  the  easiest  chair  the  room  affords  —  a  large, 
deep,  roomy  stationary-rocker  of  old-gold  plush.  May, 
as  may  be  supposed,  is  sitting  in  the  window,  holding 
the  lace  curtain  back  with  one  hand,  while  she  grasps 
the  window-sill  with  the  other.  She,  too,  is  looking 
at  the  picture  on  the  floor,  and  after  a  little  while, 
says  : 

"I  can't  get  used  to  the  idea  at  all." 

Meg  looks  up  with  laughing  eyes.  "What  idea, 
May-flower  —  that  of  being  an  'old  maid'  ?" 

May  put  on  one  of  her  most  comical  faces,  and  says : 
"No,  I  didn't  mean  that  just  then.  It  is  cruel  of 
you  to  remind  me  of  my  misfortune,  Meg;  I  never  do 
you." 

Meg  laughed.  "Pretty  good,  May-flower;  you 
paid  me  back  in  my  own  coin.  But  what  idea  did  you 
mean  ? " 

May  left  her  seat,  crossed  over  to  where  Baby  Meg 
was  kicking  up  her  little  pink  toes  in  the  air,  and 
touched  her.  "This,"  she  said. 

Meg  and  Laurie  laughed.  "Nevertheless,"  quoth 
Dell  from  her  chair,  "it  is  a  very  substantial  idea." 


MRS.   STANLEY.  361 

May  went  back  to  her  seat  in  the  window. 
"Meg,"  she  said  solemnly,  "are  you  reconciled?" 

Meg  looked  at  her,  and  then  at  Dell  and  Laurie. 
"What  ails  our  sister  to-day?"  she  asked.  "Her 
mind  seems  to  be  wandering." 

"It  is,"  returned  May.  "I  am  wondering  if  it 
is  to  be  my  lot  to  walk  alone  through  life ;  to 
have  no  strong  arm  around  me  upon  which  to 
lean." 

"  You  deserve  such  a  lot  as  that  if  you  can't  make 
a  better  pun,"  said  Dell.  "May,  why  didn't  you  keep 
a  firmer  hold  upon  Melvin  ?  You  and  he  would  have 
made  such  a  splendid  span.  You  might  have  gone 
through  the  world  getting  a  fine  living  by  making 
puns.  Why  didn't  you  keep  him?" 

May  looked  at  her  with  scornful  eyes.  "Why 
didn't  I  keep  him,"  she  repeated.  "That  is  just 
what  I  want  to  know.  It  wasn't  my  fault  —  I  did  my 
best.  But  please  do  not  speak  of  us  as  a  span,  Dell ; 
we  are  not  horses." 

"Tell  Dell  the  truth,  May -flower,"  said  Meg  with  a 
loving  look. 

"The  truth,  my  queen  ?  And  isn't  that  just  what 
I  have  told  her?" 

"No.     Tell  her,  or  I  shall." 

"I  have  told  her,  Meg." 


362  MEGDA. 


"You  refuse?"  asked  Meg,  lifting  herself  up  on 
her  elbow.  "Then  I  shall  tell  her." 

"Meg,"  said  May  imploringly,  and  put  her  hands 
over  her  ears. 

"This  is  the  reason,  Dell,"  began  Meg  relentlessly. 
"She  did  not  try  to  keep  Melvin,  because  those 
bright  eyes  of  hers  saw  that  he,  unconscious  to  him- 
self, very  much  admired  our  little  Ruth;  also,  that 
Ruth  was  experiencing  a  deeper  feeling  even  than 
admiration,  for  Melvin.  I  did  not  know  it  —  you  did 
not  know  it  —  no  one  knew  of  it.  Melvin,  himself, 
did  not  realize  how  much  he  really  liked  and  admired 
Ruth;  but  this  little  match-maker  here  had  a  keener 
penetration  than  any  of  us,  and  from  talking  of  Mel- 
vin to  Ruth,  and  of  Ruth  «to  Melvin,  soon  found  out 
the  true  state  of  affairs.  I  do  believe  Melvin  would 
have  gone  right  on  —  all  his  life,  perhaps  —  feeling 
vaguely  the  want  of  some  one  thing,  and  never  know- 
ing what  that  one  thing  was,  had  not  May  —  figura- 
tively speaking  —  opened  his  eyes  for  him.  The  best 
of  it  is,  he  does  not  know  how  his  eyes  were  opened. 
He  only  knows  that  he  loves  Ruth,  and  that  Ruth 
loves  him,  and  that  is  all  he  wants  to  know.  He 
and  May  are  sworn  friends,  as  ever,  and  she  will 
never  be  the  one  to  tell  him  how  he  knew  his  own 
heart." 


MRS.   STANLEY.  363 


Meg  nestled  down  again  beside  baby.  May  took 
her  hands  down  from  her  ears,  and  Dell  said : 

"  Quite  like  a  heroine  in  va  romance,  aren't  you, 
May-flower?  Only  the  romance  lacks  one  thing." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  May;  and  Dell  said,  not 
seeing  Meg's  warning  shake  of  the  head,  "Sacrifice 
of  love  ". 

May  turned  her  head  quickly,  and  looked  out  into 
the  shadowy  garden. 

"You  should  have  worshipped  the  very  ground 
he  walked  upon,  May;  but,  knowing  that  your 
friend  also  loved  him,  and  that  he,  all  unconsciously, 
returned  her  love,  you  nobly  sacrificed  your  own  love 
and  happiness  to  theirs.  That  would  have  been  much 
more  romantic."  And  Dell  smiled  as  she  leaned  her 
lovely  head  back  against  the  old-gold  plush,  and 
closed  her  eyes. 

"  May  has  made  something  infinitely  better  than  a 
romance  out  of  it,"  said  Meg  softly.  "  She  has  made 
for  herself  a  monument  that  will  last  forever  in  the 
hearts  of  those  she  has  made  happy,  and  in  others  as 
well." 

Dell  opened  her  gray  eyes,  but  before  she  could 
express  her  surprise  at  the  seriousness  of  the  turn 
Meg's  words  had  given  to  the  conversation,  May 
had  turned  her  head  again  and  said  gaily : 


364  MEGDA. 


"And  May  has  also  made  of  herself  an  'old  maid  '. 
What  a  fate !    It  seems  to  me  that  those  words  should 
be  set  to  the  music  of  a  dirge  —  never  to  be  spoken, 
but  always  to  be  chanted." 

"You'll  be  married  some  day,  May,  never  fear," 
said  Dell  encouragingly. 

"Bless  you  for  those  words,"  murmured  May  fer- 
vently. "Bless  you.  They  infuse  new  life  into  my 
veins,  and  you  know  'while  there's  life,  there's  hope'." 

"  How  good  it  is  that  we  know  you,  May,"  laughed 
Laurie.  "For  we  know  just  how  much  you  mean 
what  you  say." 

"Thank  you,"  said  May  bowing  low. 

"But  doesn't  it  seem  strange  that  Melvin  and  Ruth 
should  fancy  each  other?"  said  Dell.  "They  are  so 
entirely  different." 

"Extremes  meet,"  said  May  sententiously ;  and 
Meg  asked,  "Have  you  forgotten  all  your  lessons  in 
'Natural  Science,'  Dell,  about  the  'Laws  of  Con- 
trast', etc.,  etc.?" 

Dell  passed  over  this  question  and  went  on : 

"Another  thing  seems  strange  to  me,  and  that  is: 
that  Will  is  to  be  your  brother,  instead  of  your  hus- 
band, Meg." 

The  three  girls  laughed  heartily  at  this  —  it  was  so 
much  like  plain-spoken  Dell. 


MRS.  STANLEY.  365 

"You  needn't  think  it  strange,  Dell,"  said  Meg. 
"I  much  prefer  him  in  that  relation." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Dell;  "only  it  seems 
strange.  Isn't  Elsie  older  than  he  ? " 

"Only  six  months." 

"She  looks  six  years  younger,  instead  of  six  months 
older,"  returned  Dell.  "But  Will  always  did  look 
older  than  he  was.  How  long  will  she  have  to  wait 
for  him  ? " 

"Two  years,"  replied  Meg.  "Will  says  he  wants  to 
make  a  home  worthy  of  her." 

"That  sounds  just  like  him,"  said  Dell.  "Well, 
he  will  get  one  good  girl." 

"That  he  will,"  replied  Meg  emphatically.  "Elsie 
would  be  willing  to  help  make  the  home,  but  Will 
won't  hear  of  it.  He  knows  that  he  is  as  sure  of  her 
as  if  they  were  already  married.  She  would  be  true 
to  him  twenty  years,  instead  of  two,  and  wait  for  him, 
if  it  were  necessary." 

"I  believe  it,"  said  Dell. 

"  I  have  one  consolation  in  being  an  old  maid,"  said 
May  suddenly. 

"You  keep  to  that  subject  with  a  persistency  that 
almost  makes  me  doubt,  May-flower,"  remarked  Dell 
laughing." 

"What  is  your  consolation?"  asked  Meg. 


366  MEGDA. 


"That  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to  devote  to  the 
care  of  all  the  little  Eddies  and  Dells  that  this  earth 
will  be  blessed  with,"  replied  May. 

Meg  and  Laurie  applauded.  Dell's  white  face 
flushed  pink. 

"Whoever  thought  five  years  ago,"  continued  May 
mercilessly,  "that  in  one  year  from  now,  you  will 
be  Mrs.  Dr.  Holmes.  Oh,  Dell,  thy  name  is  not 
consistency." 

"I  have  to  marry  him  to  get  rid  of  him,"  said 
Dell ;  and  that  is  all  she  would  say. 

"And  to  think,"  said  Laurie,  "that  Lill  and  Lulu 
should  marry  Ray  and  Bert." 

"Lill  would  not  marry  Ray  until  he  joined  the 
church,"  said  Dell.  "  Should  you  think  she  could  be 
sure  of  his  sincerity  ? " 

"I  am  as  sure  of  Ray's  sincerity  as  I  am  of  my 
own,"  said  Meg.  "  Ray  has  been  ready  to  come  for- 
ward for  a  long  while,  but  he  kept  putting  it  off  and 
putting  it  off.  Lill  did  well  in  refusing  to  become 
his  wife,  for  if  she  had  married  him  who  knows  how 
far  away  he  might  have  wandered.  He  is  most  sin- 
cere, and  what  a  help  in  our  'Christian  Endeavor' ! " 

"What  a  pretty  wedding  it  was!"  remarked  Dell, 
thoughtfully. 

"Double  weddings  are  always  pretty,"  said  Laurie. 


MRS.   STANLEY.  367 

"You  and  I  will  have  to  have  one,  Meg,"  said  May 
d  roily. 

Meg  laughed.  "I  think  we  will  when  we  have 
any,"  she  replied.  "I  am  thinking,  May-flower,  that 
you  and  I  may  as  well  make  up  our  minds  to  a  life 
of  'single  blessedness'.  The  'girls'  will  keep  us 
busy  taking  care  of  their  little  ones.  Just  think ! 
Elsie,  Laurie,  Dell,  Lill,  Lulu  and  Ruth — three 
of  them  married,  and  the  other  three  as  good  as 
married." 

"And  Maude,"  said  Laurie  softly. 

"Yes,  and  Maude,"  repeated  Meg  slowly.  "I  won- 
der if  she  has  any  little  ones." 

"Let  us  hope  not,  for  the  little  ones'  sakes,"  said 
Dell  gravely.  "The  report  from  the  city  is,  that  she 
is  leading  a  life  of  continual  excitement,  and,  as  I 
presume  she  would  call  it  —  pleasure." 

"  How  can  she  feel  like  going  into  society  again  so 
soon  after  her  mother's  death  ?  "  said  May.  "And  her 
father  is  in  feeble  health." 

"  She  may  be  doing  it  to  drown  some  secret  sorrow 
of  her  own,"  said  Meg  gravely.  "Her  life  cannot  be 
a  very  happy  one,  according  to  the  reports  we  hear  of 
her  husband's  life  and  character." 

"Omit  that  last  word,  Meg,"  said  Dell;  "Augustus 
Belmont  has  no  character." 


368  MEGDA. 


"Poor  Maude !"  said  Laurie  with  a  sigh.  "I  am 
afraid  we  were  none  of  us  as  patient  with  her  as  we 
should  have  been." 

"No,  we  were  not,"  said  May.  "We  are  all  quick 
to  condemn." 

"All  except  Ethel,"  said  Meg  softly. 

The  girls  were  silent.  They  always  were  at  the 
mention  of  that  beloved  name.  Laurie  looked  across 
at  Meg  with  wistful,  loving  eyes.  If  she  could  see 
her  happy  in  the  way  in  which  she  was  herself  — 
happy  in  the  love  of  a  good,  true  man  —  she  would 
ask  for  nothing  more.  Would  it  ever  be  ? 

The  gate-latch  clicked,  and  a  man's  figure  came 
slowly  up  the  shady  garden-path.  Laurie  glanced 
out. 

"  Mr.  Stanley,  girls,"  she  said  warningly. 

May  almost  rolled  out  of  the  window,  Meg  sprang 
to  her  feet,  catching  up  baby  as  she  did  so,  and  seated 
herself  in  a  willow  rocker.  Dell  drew  herself  up  into 
a  little  more  dignified  position,  and  Laurie  rose  to 
meet  the  visitor  as  the  "girl"  opened  the  door  to 
admit  him.  He  came  in,  smiling. 

"Have  I  disturbed  the  meeting?"  he  asked,  look- 
ing at  Meg  with  baby  in  her  arms.  Laurie  drew 
a  chair  forward.  "You  could  never  do  that,"  she 
answered  kindly. 


MRS.   STANLEY.  369 

Mr.  Stanley  turned  to  Meg.  "I  called  at  your 
house,  and  your  mother  told  me  you  were  here.  I 
waited  for  you  a  little  while,  and  then  grew  impatient, 
and  came  after  you.  Are  you  displeased  ? " 

Was  she  displeased !  Her  blushing  face  and  droop- 
ing eyes  answered  him  even  better  than  her  words 
did.  "Oh,  no;  far  from  it." 

May  Jooked  out  through  the  open  window,  into  the 
softly-coming  twilight.  "  Methinks  my  fate  is  sealed," 
she  said  to  herself,  half  humorously,  half  sadly.  "I 
am  to  be  the  ( old  maid '  of  the  '  class '.  May  God 
bless  her  and  make  her  happy." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Dell  and  May,  declining 
Laurie's  invitation  to  stay  to  tea,  kissed  Baby,  now 
lying  fast  asleep  in  Meg's  lap,  and  took  their  depart- 
ure. Meg  carried  Baby  to  Laurie's  room,  undressed 
her,  and  put  her  in  her  little  white  crib,  then  went 
down  stairs  to  the  parlor. 

Laurie  had  gone  to  the  kitchen  to  see  about  tea. 
Mr.  Stanley  was  standing  at  one  of  the  long  windows, 
gazing  out  into  the  dusky  garden.  Meg  could  not 
see  his  face,  but  his  attitude  betokened  deep  thought. 

"He  is  thinking  of  Ethel,"  said  Meg  to  herself, 
and  turned  softly  to  leave  the  room. 

He  looked  at  her  over  his  shoulder,  and  crossed 
the  room  quickly.  "Don't  go,"  he  said. 


370  MEGDA. 


Something  in  his  voice  made  Meg's  heart  beat 
quickly  for  a  moment,  then  almost  stand  still.  She 
gave  one  fleeting  glance  into  his  face  and  drooped 
her  eyes.  He  smiled  and  drew  her  gently  to  the 
open  window.  Then  he  stood  and  looked  down  into 
her  face  for  a  moment.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking 
how  changed  its  expression  was.  The  face  was  as 
fair  as  ever  —  the  eyes  as  dark  and  bright;  the  long 
lashes  rested  on  the  soft  cheeks,  the  lips  were  red  and 
smiling;  but  the  proud,  haughty  look  had  gone,  or 
else  deepened  and  softened  into  one  of  sweet,  grave 
womanliness  and  tender  pity.  Mr.  Stanley  gazed  a 
moment.  His  face  was  very  pale  and  grave,  but  his 
dark-blue  eyes  were  full  of  a  loving,  tender  light. 
Then  he  spoke. 

I  shall  not  tell  what  he  said,  but  half  an  hour  later 
when  innocent  little  Laurie  stepped  softly  to  the 
open  door  to  tell  them  "that  Hal  had  come"  and 
"tea  was  ready",  what  she  saw  made  her  give  a  little 
gasp  of  delight,  and  fly  back  to  the  dining-room  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes. 

Hal  was  standing  by  the  mantel,  leaning  one  arm 
upon  it.  His  little  wife  rushed  up  to  him,  and  clung 
to  the  other  arm,  almost  sobbing  in  her  joy.  After 
she  had  succeeded  in  making  Hal  understand,  he 
looked  down  into  her  pretty  face  with  laughing  eyes. 


MRS.   STANLEY.  371 


"And  what  you  saw  made  you  feel  as  if  you  would 
like  to  do  the  same  thing ;  is  that  it,  wee  wifie  ?  So 
you  had  to  fly  out  to  your  old  husband,  and  hug  him. 
Well,  that  is  doing  pretty  well  for  an  old  married 
woman." 

Laurie  boxed  his  ears,  and  then  kissed  him. 

"Just  the  same,  wifie,"  said  Hal,  taking  out  his 
watch,  "they  must  be  brought  back  to  earth  before 
long,  or  I  shall  eat  up  all  the  strawberries.  They 
may  be  able  to  live  on  love  now — I  was,  once  — 
but  when  they  have  been  married  three  years,  they 
will  want  more  substantial  food,"  and  Hal  laughed 
teasingly. 

"For  shame,  Hal!  Have  you  forgotten  when  you 
were  young?" 

Five,  ten  —  fifteen  minutes  passed.  Hal  had  com- 
menced to  walk  the  room.  "It's  no  use,  Laurie  — 
they  must  be  brought  back.  I'll  run  up  to  our 
room,  and  you  come  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  cry, 
'Tea  is  ready,  Hal.'  If  that  doesn't  start  them- 
him,  at  any  rate  —  I  shall  think  there  is  something 
the  matter  with  his  anatomy.  Will  you  do  it,  wifie  ?  " 

Laurie  laughed,  but  shook  her  head.  "Of  course 
not,  you  rude  boy." 

"Then  I  shall  call  to  you  and  ask  you  if  it  isn't 
about  time  for  refreshments,"  and  Hal  started  to  go. 


372  MEGDA. 


Laurie  clung  to  him,  trying  to  coax  him  back. 
When  nearly  to  the  parlor  door,  Hal  said,  loudly 
enough  for  Mr.  Stanley  and  Meg  to  hear,  "I'll  be 
back  by  the  time  tea  is  poured,  wifie,"  and  ran  up 
stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time,  leaving  Laurie  to  beat  a 
hasty  retreat  to  the  dining-room. 

She  had  hardly  found  her  breath,  when  Mr.  Stanley 
and  Meg  came  slowly  from  the  parlor  through  the 
hall,  followed  by  Hal,  who  had  stopped  on  the  upper 
landing  and  peeped  over  the  banisters  to  see  what 
effect  his  words  might  have  had.  The  sight  of  him, 
walking  gravely  behind  the  happy  couple,  and  looking 
triumphantly  at  her  over  their  heads,  upset  Laurie's 
gravity.  She  was  obliged  to  step  to  the  door  and  tell 
the  "girl"  to  bring  in  the  tea-urn.  When  she  turned 
again  all  three  were  in  the  room. 

Mr.  Stanley,  passing  his  arm  about  Meg,  and  tak- 
ing her  hand  in  his,  walked  with  her  straight  up  to 
Hal,  and  said : 

"Will  you  give  your  sister  into  my  keeping, 
Hal?" 

As  Hal  told  Laurie  afterward,  if  it  had  been  anyone 
else  but  Mr.  Stanley,  and  it  had  not  seemed  too  sol- 
emn a  thing  to  joke  upon,  he  would  have  put  a  hand 
upon  each  of  their  heads,  and  said:  "Bless  ye,  my 
children."  But  the  expression  of  the  two  pale  faces 


MRS.   STANLEY.  373 


before  him  checked  all  words  of  levity  that  may  have 
been  on  his  lips. 

What  had  passed  between  them  Hal  did  not  know. 
He  had  not  heard  the  solemn  words  of  promise  made, 
nor  the  low,  softly-spoken  name  of  "Ethel",  as  the 
two  who  had  loved  her  best  on  earth,  talked  about 
her,  tenderly  and  freely,  each  to  the  other. 

Meg  knew  how  much  Ethel  had  been  to  Mr.  Stan- 
ley, and  Mr.  Stanley  knew  that  Meg  knew  it,  and 
although  he  loved  Meg  deeply  and  tenderly  now,  he 
knew  and  she  knew,  that  there  was  a  corner  of  his 
heart  where  even  she  could  never  enter.  And  Meg 
was  glad  that  it  was  so.  Had  he  forgotten  thus  early 
and  easily,  he  would  not  —  to  Meg  —  have  seemed 
worthy  of  either  her  love  or  Ethel's. 

Hal  put  out  his  hand,  and  took  Mr.  Stanley's  prof- 
fered one  in  a  strong,  close  grasp.  "I  give  her  to 
you,  gladly,  for  I  like  and  respect  you  above  any  man, 
and  —  she  loves  you." 

It  looked  a  solemn  thing  to  see  a  brother  —  and  he 
so  young  a  man  —  giving  his  precious  sister  into 
another's  keeping.  And  it  was  a  touching  as  well  as 
a  solemn  sight.  Laurie's  tender  little  heart  filled,  and 
so  did  her  blue  eyes,  as  she  went  up  and  kissed  her 
".more  than  sister". 

But  after  they  were  seated  at  the  table  and  were 


374  MEGDA. 


doing  full  justice  to  Laurie's  delicious  little  repast, 
their  tongues  were  loosened,  and  the  happy  half-hour 
slipped  quickly  by. 

At  nine  o'clock  Meg  went  up  to  Laurie's  room  to 
put  on  her  wraps.  Laurie  flew  up  after  her,  leaving 
Hal  and  Arthur  talking  in  the  hall.  Both  the  young 
men  looked  after  them  with  a  smile. 

Laurie  closed  the  door  and  went  up  to  Meg,  and 
then  what  did  these  silly  girls  do  but  fall  into  each 
other's  arms  and  cry,  softly,  but  never  were  happier 
tears  shed  than  those  they  wept  together. 

When  Meg  lifted  her  face  from  Laurie's  shoulder, 
the  first  words  she  said  were,  "  Oh,  Laurie,  I  am  so 
unworthy ! " 

"Unworthy,  Meg?"  said  Laurie  with  jealous  resent- 
ment. " Unworthy  of  —  of  Arthur?  You  are  never 
that,  my  darling." 

Meg  smiled.     "No,. I  did  not  mean  Arthur,  though 
I  am  unworthy  of  him,  too,  Laurie ;  oh,  yes,  I  am  — 
but  I   meant  then,   that   I   am    so    unworthy   of   my 
Father's  love  and  mercy." 

Laurie  kissed  her.  "We  are  all  unworthy  there, 
Meg,"  she  said  solemnly. 

Mr.  Stanley,  much  to  everybody's  surprise,  made 
a  most  impatient  lover.  According  to  his  earnest 
request,  the  wedding  was  set  for  October.  To  Mrs. 


MRS.   STANLEY.  375 


Randal  and  Elsie,  the  time  flew  by  on  wings.  They 
both  felt  that  the  hardest  trial  of  their  lives  had  come. 
It  was  hard  for  them  to  give  her  up,  and,  had  she  not 
been  going  to  reside  in  the  same  place  with  them,  it 
would  have  been  difficult,  indeed,  for  Mr.  Stanley  to 
gain  the  mother's  consent  for  so  early  a  day. 

At  last  the  day  came,  the  hour,  the  minute,  when 
Meg  stood  in  her  mother's  parlor  beside  the  man 
whom  she  loved  with  all  the  strength  of  her  deep, 
pure,  true  heart,  and  promised  to  love,  honor  and 
obey  him  till  death  should  them  part. 

Meg's  dress  was  white  silk.  A  fine  white  lace  veil 
enveloped  her  from  head  to  foot.  She  carried  a  large 
bouquet  of  white  tearoses;  her  wreath  was  of  the 
same  flower.  Immediately  after  the  ceremony,  the 
dainty  dress  was  exchanged  for  a  neat  traveling  cos- 
tume, and  amid  a  shower  of  rice  and  slippers  which 
the  "girls"  threw  after  the  carriage,  Rev.  and  Mrs. 
Arthur  Norman  Stanley  were  driven  rapidly  to  the 
station  to  catch  the  express  to  the  city.  From  there 
they  were  to  take  the  boat  to  New  York,  where  two 
weeks  were  to  be  spent  with  a  cousin  of  Mr.  Stan- 
ley's—  Dr.  John  Stanley. 

There  let  us  leave  them,  and  not  return  to  them 
until  five  years  of  their  married  life  have  passed  away. 


376  MEGDA, 


XXV. 

AFTER   YEARS. 

THEY  have  been  five  happy,  peaceful  years.  To 
Meg  it  has  seemed  as  if  every  day  has  been 
brighter  than  the  one  before  it.  To  Mr.  Stanley,  his 
fair,  lovable  wife  has  been  a  source  of  constant  light 
and  happiness. 

Even  after  five  years  of  constant  companionship 
with  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Stanley,  Meg  is  yet  far  from 
being  perfect.  Yet  her  husband  loves  every  little 
fault  in  her  —  the  little  flashes  of  temper,  the  spirit 
of  pride  that  shows  itself  now  and  then,  the  natural 
willfulness  of  her  disposition  —  he  loves  them  all;  for, 
as  he  once  laughingly  said  to  Elsie,  "  Meg  would 
not  be  Meg  without  them."  And  then  one  look 
from  his  dark-blue  eyes,  one  low,  gravely-spoken 
"Meg"  was  enough  to  banish  all  signs  of  temper, 
pride  and  willfulness. 

Two  children  —  a  boy  and  girl  —  have  blessed  their 
union.  The  boy,  a  dark-haired,  blue-eyed  child  of 


AFTER    YEARS.  377 


four  years,  is  the  very  picture  of  his  father.  He  is  a 
quiet,  grave,  thoughtful-looking  child.  Every  time 
Meg  looks  at  him,  she  sees  his  father  reflected  in  the 
dark-blue  eyes,  and  upon  every  small  feature.  The 
girl,  a  bright-haired,  dark-eyed  darling  of  two  sum- 
mers, is  a  veritable  miniature  Meg.  She  reigns  queen 
over  all,  even  her  grave,  dignified  papa.  He  obeys 
her  imperious  "Tate  Ethie,  Papa,"  with  a  meekness 
that  causes  many  a  laughing,  "Oh,  Arthur!"  from 
Meg. 

He  loves  his  little  Ethel  with  a  love  that  is  deep 
and  boundless.  Meg  often  says,  "her  only  earthly 
rival  is  her  own  baby. 

Meg  loves  both  her  children  with  an  equal  love. 
If  Mr.  Stanley  sometimes  says,  half  laughing,  half 
serious,  that  he  is  jealous  of  little  Arthur,  it  is  when 
he  has  seen  his  wife  hold  her  boy  close  to  her  and 
cover  his  grave  little  face  with  passionate  kisses. 

Their  home  is  a  perfect  little  nest  of  beauty  and 
comfort.  It  was  planned  by  Arthur  himself  and  built 
for  him  as  a  wedding  present  by  Judge  Lawton,  and 
furnished  according  to  Meg's  taste- by  Judge  Law- 
ton's  wife.  The  childless  couple  would  have  it  so, 
and  Arthur  and  Meg  put  all  false  pride  away,  and 
accepted  their  generous  gifts.  They  were  constant 
and  ever  welcome  visitors  at  the  pretty  parsonage. 


378  MEGDA. 


Arthur  was  to  them  like  a  son,  and  Meg,  more  than 
ever,  beloved  by  them. 

It  was  known  only  by  Arthur  and  Meg,  that  baby 
Ethel  would  one  day  be  heiress  to  Judge  Lawton's 
wealth.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  of  Meg's  pas- 
sionate kisses  on  her  boy's  face. 

One  warm,  sunny  afternoon  late  in  June,  Meg  was 
sitting  in  her  little  sewing-room.  Her  work  had  fallen 
idly  in  her  lap,  her  hands  were  loosely  clasped,  and 
her  eyes  were  looking  through  the  vine-covered  win- 
dow, at  her  darlings  playing  on  the  smooth,  velvety 
lawn. 

Little  Arthur  had  helped  Ethel  on  to  his  voloci- 
pede,  and  she  was  laughing,  half -tearfully,  half  joy- 
fully, not  knowing  whether  to  be  frightened  or  not. 
Meg  laughed  softly  to  see  her.  Just  then  Ethel 
threw  up  her  little  hands  with  a  glad  cry  of  "Papa", 
and  Arthur  came  through  the  gate,  crossed  the  lawn 
quickly,  lifted  each  child  up  in  his  arms,  kissed  them, 
and  set  them  down  again.  Ethel  clung  to  him  with 
imperative  cries  of,  "Tate  Ethie,  Papa;  tate  Ethie," 
but  he  put  her  gently  but  firmly  away,  and  Meg  could 
see  that  he  was  trying  to  reason  with  her.  In  vain. 
The  small  queen  stamped  her  little  foot,  and  struck 
at  her  papa  with  her  tiny  clenched  hand.  Meg  could 
not  help  laughing  when  she  saw  Arthur  look  about 


AFTER    YEARS.  379 


him  as  if  seeking  some  help  out  of  his  difficulty,  then, 
not  finding  any,  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  take  out 
something  and  offer  it  to  Ethel.  She  stopped  her  cry- 
ing long  enough  to  look  at  the  thing  he  offered,  then 
expressed  her  contempt  for  it  by  striking  it  out  of  his 
hand.  Little  Arthur  quietly  picked  it  up,  and  handed 
it  back  to  his  father. 

Mr.  Stanley  offered  the  remaining  contents  of  his 
pocket  to  Ethel,  but  they  all  received  the  same  con- 
temptuous rejection.  At  last,  in  a  state  of  despera- 
tion, he  took  out  a  set  of  dainty  ivory  tablets,  with  a 
pretty  tiny  gold  pencil  attached.  At  sight  of  this 
long-coveted,  but  heretofore  denied  article,  baby 
Ethel's  eyes  shone  with  something  brighter  than 
tears.  Her  little  face  wreathed  itself  in  smiles ;  she 
showed  her  little  "pearls"  in  a  happy  laugh,  nodded 
her  sunny  head  with  condescending  approval,  took  the 
tablets  from  her  father's  hand,  seated  herself  on  the 
grass,  and  commenced  "  operations  ".  Arthur  turned 
away  with  a  smile  of  relief,  but  alas !  the  smile  was 
premature.  Away  flew  both  tablet  and  pencil,  and 
sharp,  wild  cries  of  "papa,  papa,  turn  —  an' — tate  — 
Ethie,"  rang  on  the  air. 

Arthur  looked  up  at  the  window,  and  caught  sight 
of  Meg's  laughing  face.  He  laughed  too,  then,  and 
made  an  imploring  gesture  for  her  to  come  out.  She 


380  MEGDA. 


stepped  through  the  long  window  and  crossed  the 
lawn  to  him.  "Oh,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "to  be  ruled 
by  such  a  sprite ! " 

Baby  Ethel  always  obeyed  her  mother.  Arthur 
had  a  most  profound  respect  for  his  wife's  capability 
of  managing  the  small  "sovereign''.  It  was  not 
that  she  spoke  sharply  to  her,  for  she  never  did.  Her 
voice  was  always  low,  sweet,  but  very  firm.  Baby 
Ethel  seemed  to  feel  instinctively  that  vwhen  her 
mama  spoke  in  that  way,  she  must  obey  her.  Arthur 
could  control  almost  anyone  by  a  glance  or  a  word, 
but  here  he  was  "the  weakest  of  the  weak". 

After  Meg  had  restored  order,  she  and  Arthur 
turned  and  walked  slowly,  arm  in  arm,  to  the  house. 
Generally  he  complimented  her  laughingly  upon 
her  "secret  power",  but  to-day  he  was  unusually 
grave. 

They  passed  through  the  window,  and  Meg  seated 
herself  in  her  low  rocker,  and  waited  for  him  to  tell 
her  what  was  troubling  him.  She  knew  there  was 
something  —  she  could  always  tell  —  but  she  never 
wearied  him  with  questions.  He  always  told  her 
everything  of  his  own  accord,  sure  of  her  love  and 
sympathy  in  the  merest  trifle. 

To-day  he  seated  himself  on  a  low  couch  that  was 
in  the  room,  and  motioned  for  her  to  sit  beside  him. 


AFTER    YEARS.  381 


She  did  so,  and  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  said, 
"Feel  in  the  letter-pocket,  Meg." 

Whenever  he  had  been  to  the  post-office  and 
received  letters,  he  always  put  them  in  his  breast- 
pocket after  reading  them,  and  then  let  Meg  take 
them  out  herself  and  read  them  —  he  looking  over  her 
shoulder  as  she  did  so.  Sometimes,  I  must  confess, 
she  read  them  sitting  upon  his  knee,  but  that  was 
always  his  fault,  of  course ;  he  would  insist  upon  her 
doing  it. 

Meg  put  her  little  white  hand  in  his  pocket,  and 
drew  out  a  thick  cream  envelope.  The  writing  was 
in  a  lady's  hand  and  addressed  to  "  Rev.  A.  N.  Stan- 
ley "  .  The  hand-writing  looked  familiar  to  Meg,  and 
still  she  could  not  name  it.  Too  impatient  to  read  it 
through  before  knowing  by  whom  it  had  been  written, 
she  turned  the  page  and  looked  at  the  signature. 

Maude  Belmont ! 

Meg  turned  her  face  to  Arthur's.  He  was  looking 
very  grave,  but  he  could  not  help  smiling  at  her  big 
eyes.  "Read  it  through,  dear,"  he  said  gently. 

Meg  turned  the  leaf  back  and  read  : 

"  To  Rev.  A.  N.  Stanley: 

"DEAR  SIR:  —  I  will  not  insult  you  by  calling  you 
'dear  friend'.  Once,  years  ago,  I  should  have  called 
you  so,  and  you  would  have  been  glad  to  have  me, 


382  MEGDA. 


but  things  are  different  now  from  what  they  were 
then.  Then  I  was  happy,  at  all  events,  if  not  as  good 
as  I  might  have  been,  and  I  was  respected  by  most 
people  (your  wife  was  not  included  among  those  peo- 
ple), if  not  deserving  of  their  respect.  Now  I  am 
wretchedly  unhappy.  My  unhappiness  is  too  great  to 
express.  I  am  sick  and  discouraged,  and  oh,  so  tired ! 
I  have  lived  a  life  of  constant  excitement  and  selfish 
pleasure,  and  am  now  reaping  the  whirlwind.  You 
may  know  that  I  have  sunken  to  the  very  depths  of 
shame  and  degradation,  when  I  will  thus  make  my 
wretchedness  known  to  anyone.  If  my  sin  has  been 
great,  my  punishment  has  been  greater.  Let  me  tell 
you  all  the  shameful  truth  at  once. 

"  My  husband  never  cared  for  me ;  he  admired  and 
was  proud  of  my  beauty,  but  it  was  my  money  he 
loved,  not  me.  He  has  always  led  a  life  of  dissipation, 
but  his  life  of  former  years  was  an  honorable  one 
beside  the  one  he  has  lived  for  the  past  five  years.  I 
will  not  disgust  you  by  repeating  it  to  you.  Enough 
to  say  that  for  the  last  two  years  he  has  never  come 
into  my  presence  in  a  sober  condition;  has  never 
spoken  aught  to  me  but  the  vilest  curses ;  and  has 
never  left  me  without  cruel  blows.  I  have  borne  it 
all  until  now,  for  the  sake  of  one  who  is  dearer  than 
life  itself  —  my  precious  baby  girl. 

"Oh,  tell  Meg  that;  it  will  make  her  heart  tender 
toward  me  where  nothing  else  can.  Meg  was  never 
deceived  by  me  —  she  knew  me  well.  She  despised 
me,  and  she  had  full  reason  to.  She  was  proud,  per- 


AFTER    YEARS.  383 


haps  she  is  now  —  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  know  she  has 
a  little  girl  of  her  own,  and  I  can  imagine  what  a 
mother  she  will  be  to  her.  So  tell  her  of  my  baby 
girl,  and  oh,  how  I  love  her.  I  cannot  write  more 
now  —  I  am  too  weak.  What  I  want  to  ask  of  you 
both,  is  this :  Will  you  come  to  me  ?  I  have  only  a 
very  little  while  longer  to  stay  here,  and  I  want  to 
see  Meg.  Meg  was  always  true,  if  proud ;  she  would 
never  deceive  a  living  person.  I  know  she  will  not 
deceive  a  dying  one.  I  have  written  to  you  instead 
of  to  Meg,  because  I  thought  that  if  she  would  not 
come  to  me  for  baby's  sake,  she  might  if  you  asked 
her." 

The  address  was  given  at  the  bottom  of  the  page. 
Meg  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face.  "  Shall  I  go, 
Arthur?" 

"How  do  you  feel  about  it ? "  he  asked  gently. 

"  I  would  like  to  go  very  much." 

He  kissed  her  lips.  "We  will  go,"  was  all  he  said; 
but  Meg  knew  he  was  greatly  pleased. 

They  left  little  Arthur  with  his  grandmother  and 
Ethel  with  Mrs.  Lawton,  and  took  the  seven  o'clock 
train  that  night  for  the  city.  The  New  York  boat  left 
at  eight  o'clock.  Arthur  had  telephoned  for  a  state- 
room immediately  after  the  decision  to  go  had  been 
made,  and  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  secure  a 
good  one. 


384  MEGDA. 


Maude's  summer  home  was  at  Yonkers,  and  it  was 
from  there  that  she  had  written  to  Arthur. 

As  Arthur  and  Meg  stepped  upon  the  platform, 
they  were  greatly  surprised  to  see  Mr.  Leonard, 
Maude's  father,  there,  waiting  for  them.  He  looked 
old  and  bent  and  feeble,  but  he  thanked  them  bro- 
kenly for  their  kindness  in  coming  to  his  child,  and 
conducted  them  to  a  hack  that  was  in  waiting.  Meg 
hardly  noticed  that  it  was  not  a  private  carriage  into 
which  she  was  assisted ;  her  thoughts  were  too  busy 
with  Maude  and  her  suffering,  but  when  the  carriage 
stopped,  and  she  saw,  through  the  window,  that  it 
was  before  an  old,  dilapidated  house,  her  astonishment 
was  great,  and  she  looked  with  large  eyes  at  Mr. 
Leonard,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  see  her.  Arthur 
touched  her  arm  warningly,  and  she  controlled  her 
surprise. 

A  pretty,  neatly-dressed  English  girl  opened  the 
door  for  them,  and  conducted  them  to  a  small  cham- 
ber, where  she  left  them  for  a  few  moments.  Meg 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  looked  at 
Arthur. 

"  It  is  even  worse  than  we  thought  for,  Meg,"  he 
said.  "  But  you  must  really  control  the  expression  of 
your  face,  or  you  will  make  Maude  feel  badly." 

«  Oh,  Arthur !     Poor  Maude !     Poor  Maude !  " 


AFTER    YEARS.  385 


It  was  all  that  Meg  could  say.  She  laid  aside  her 
hat,  bathed  her  face  and  brushed  her  hair.  Then 
came  a  low  knock  at  the  door,  and  Arthur  opened  it. 
The  pretty  English  girl  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"Mrs.  Belmont's  compliments  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Stanley,  and  she  would  be  happy  to  see  them  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"We  are  ready  now,"  said  Meg. 

Everywhere  it  looked  very  neat,  but  very,  very  poor. 
As  the  girl  pushed  open  a  chamber  door,  a  low,  hol- 
low sound  fell  on  Meg's  ear,  and  made  her  heart  beat 
quickly;  then  she  stepped  inside  the  room,  the  girl 
went  out  and  closed  the  door,  and  Meg  found  herself 
standing  in  the  middle  of  a  small,  scantily-furnished 
chamber,  looking  at  a  wasted  form  upon  the  bed, 
a  thin,  flushed  face,  with  two  large,  glittering  eyes 
upon  the  pillow,  and  then  she  saw  two  poor,  white 
hands  stretched  yearningly  out  to  her,  and  heard  a 
weak  voice  cry,  "For  my  baby's  sake,  Meg." 

In  an  instant  Meg  was  on  her  knees  beside  the 
bed,  her  arms  around  the  wasted  form,  the  poor,  ach- 
ing head  upon  her  breast.  "For  your  own  sake, 
Maude,"  she  cried,  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  dry 
lips. 

Arthur  slipped  quietly  from  the  room,  and  left  the 
two  together. 


386  MEGDA. 


Forgiveness  was  brokenly  asked  and  granted  on 
both  sides,  then  Maude  sobbed  out  her  miserable 
story  on  Meg's  breast.  Her  husband's  money  and 
her  own  independent  fortune  was  all  gone  —  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  life  of  endless  excitement  and  sinful 
pleasure.  What  they  had  not  spent  to  defray  their 
manifold  expenses,  her  husband  had  spent  for  drink, 
and  at  the  gaming-table.  He  had  even  ruined  her 
poor  old  father ;  not  only  taking  from  him  every  cent 
of  his  vast  fortune,  but  even  his  home. 

uAnd  he  gave  it  all  to  him  for  my  sake,  Meg. 
My  poor  old  father !  I  would  not  leave  my  husband, 
and  father  would  not  see  me  suffer." 

Maude's  suffering,  both  mental  and  bodily,  was 
intense.  She  cried  out  in  agony  that  she  could  not 
die ;  that  she  was  not  fit  to  die ;  she  was  afraid. 

"It  is  so  dark,  Meg,"  she  moaned.  "The  river  is 
wide  and  deep,  and  I  am  so  cold.  Give  me  your 
hand,  do  not  let  me  go.  Oh,  Meg,  tell  me  something ; 
say  something  to  me  from  the  Bible.  I  have  been 
wicked,  but  I  am  sorry.  I  do  truly  repent  and  ask 
forgiveness.  Oh,  Meg!  Meg!  Pray  for  me  —  say 
something  —  oh ! "  — 

"Let  me  call  Arthur,  Maude,  dear,"  said  Meg, 
trembling  in  every  limb. 

She  felt  frightened.     She  had  never  seen  anyone 


AFTER    YEARS.  387 


die  but  Ethel,  but  alas  !  Maude's  death-bed  was  vastly 
different  from  what  Ethel's  had  been. 

But  Maude  clung  to  her  with  the  strength  of 
despair.  "No,  no,  do  not  leave  me,  Meg,  I  shall  die 
before  you  get  back.  Pray  for  me.  Oh,  Meg/'  and 
Maude  sat  up  straight  in  bed,  and  grasped  Meg's  arm 
with  both  hands,  while  her  eyes  seemed  to  be  on  fire. 
"You  never  deceived  anybody  —  you  always  told  the 
truth ;  tell  it  now,  for  Heaven's  sake !  Am  I  to  be 
eternally  lost,  or  is  there  yet  time  for  repentance? 
Tell  me  quick !  " 

Poor  Meg  was  almost  fainting.  What  should  she 
do  ?  She  had  never  prayed  aloud  in  her  life.  She 
glanced  at  the  door.  Oh,  if  Arthur  would  only  come 
in!  Maude's  grasp  grew  looser;  her  head  fell  back 
upon  the  pillow.  "Quick  —  Meg  —  for  —  Jesus'  — 
sake." 

"For  Jesus  sake."  The  words  were  an  inspiration 
to  Meg.  All  fear  left  her.  She  knelt  by  the  bed 
and  clasping  Maude's  hands  in  hers,  told  over  to  her 
the  story  of  the  dying  thief  upon  the  cross.  "There 
yet  is  time  for  you,  Maude.  Just  say,  'God  have 
mercy  upon  me,  a  sinner',  and  He  will  surely  hear 
and  answer  your  prayer.  Say  it,  Maude." 

"God  have  mercy  upon  me,  a  sinner,"  repeated  the 
poor  lips. 


388  MEGDA. 


Then  Meg  prayed;  what  she  prayed,  she  did  not 
know  —  but  she  felt  Maude's  hands  grow  quiet  in 
hers ;  her  quick,  heavy  breathing  grew  soft  and  slow, 
and  when  Meg  lifted  up  her  head,  Maude  lay  asleep, 
with  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 

She  lay  thus  a^long  while.  The  sun  went  to  rest 
behind  a  bank  of  heavy,  dark  clouds.  With  night, 
came  rain,  accompanied  by  a  low,  sobbing  wind.  One 
by  one  the  lights  gleamed  out,  and  lighted  up  the  wet, 
dreary  streets.  Mr.  Leonard  and  Arthur  came  into 
the  room;  the  night-lamp  was  lighted.  Meg  still 
held  Maude  in  her  arms;  she  would  not  leave  her. 
Her  arms  ached,  and  sharp  pains  shot  through  her 
head,  but  she  would  not  leave  her  post.  She  took 
food  and  drink  from  Arthur's  hands,  but  her  arms 
never  loosened  their  hold  of  their  burden. 

And  thus  the  long  night  wore  away.  Mr.  Leonard 
had  sunk  down  in  an  easy  chair ;  his  head  rested  on 
his  hands ;  he  neither  spoke  nor  stirred.  Arthur  sat 
in  a  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  rain  fell 
drearily,  the  wind  moaned  sobbingly,  and  the  night- 
lamp  burned  dimly  all  night. 

As  midnight  struck  Meg  felt  the  form  she  held, 
move  softly  in  her  arms.  The  great/ black  eyes  opened 
slowly,  and  looked  up  in  her  face.  All  color  was  gone 
from  the  thin  face ;  it  was  white  enough  now. 


AFTER    YEARS.  389 


"Meg." 

Meg  bent  her  head. 

"My  baby-girl." 

"She  wants  her  baby,  Arthur." 

Arthur  went  from  the  room,  and  returned  with  the 
child  in  his  arms.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Meg  had 
seen  her.  She  was  three  years  old,  and  had  her 
mother's  rich,  dark  beauty,  except  her  eyes,  which 
were  large  and  bright,  but  a  deep  blue,  and  the  lashes 
were  long  and  curly ;  but  Meg  could  see  even  then 
that  there  was  pride  and  temper  in  every  line  and 
feature. 

The  poor  mother's  arms  were  held  hungrily  out,  and 
Arthur  placed  the  child  in  them.  Oh,  what  passion- 
ate cries  rose  up  from  the  young  mother's  heart  as 
she  pressed  her  dying  lips  on  the  beautiful  little  face ! 
Arthur  and  Meg  turned  their  heads  away  from  the 
sight. 

"  My  baby !  My  baby  !  Oh,  God,  let  me  take  my 
baby.  I  will  have  her  —  I  must  have  her.  Oh,  I  can- 
not go  without  her !  " 

So  she  cried,  holding  her  child  close  to  her,  until, 
strengthless  and  voiceless,  she  lay  gasping  on  her  pil- 
low. But  never  will  Meg  forget  the  agonized  look  of 
entreaty  in  the  large  eyes  as  Maude  raised  them  to 
her  face. 


390  MEGDA. 


"What  is  it,  Maude?"  she  whispered. 

"B  —  a  —  b  —  y."     The  white  lips  scarcely  moved. 

Arthur  took  the  child  and  held  it  in  his  arms. 
"You  want  us  to  take  baby?"  he  asked  clearly,  yet 
gently. 

A  rapturous  look  of  joy  was  his  answer. 

"  To  take  her  for  our  own ;  to  love  and  care  for  all 
her  life  ? "  he  continued. 

Another  of  the  rapturous  looks  was  his  answer. 
He  looked  at  his  young  wife. 

"Yes,  Arthur,  I  will- be  a  mother  to  her,"  Meg 
said. 

"And  I  a  father." 

Oh,  how  the  poor  hands  tried  to  clasp  theirs !  How 
the  dying  eyes  grew  dim  with  thankful  tears  !  How 
the  white  lips  tried  to  thank  them,  and  failed ! 

"We  will  call  her  Maude?"  asked  Arthur. 

The  lips  smiled. 

"  Maude  Leonard  Belmont  ?  " 

The  dark  brows  were  drawn  together  as  if  in  pain. 

Arthur  tried  again.     "  Maude  Leonard  Stanley  ?  " 

The  lips  parted  in  a  smile  again. 

"We  will  love  her  and  cherish  her  like  our  own," 
said  Arthur.  "  We  will  let  no  one  take  her  from  us." 
Then  he  put  the  child  down  for  it  to  receive  its  last 
kiss,  and  then  carried  her  from  the  room. 


AFTER    YEARS.  391 


After  that  Maude  lay  very  quiet.  They  saw  her 
lips  move  twice  or  thrice  as  if  in  prayer,  but  no  sound 
came  from  them.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  breath 
came  softly  and  slowly;  then  yet  more  slowly  and 
more  slowly  still,  until  it  died  away  altogether,  and 
Maude  was  safe  in  her  Father's  house,  away  from  the 
fever  and  unrest  of  this  life. 

Arthur  bent  over  Mr.  Leonard,  as  he  still  sat, 
crouched  down  in  his  chair,  and  touched  him  gently. 
He  did  not  move  or  look  up.  Arthur  touched  him 
again,  and  yet  again.  He  neither  moved  or  spoke. 
And  when  they  lifted  up  his  face,  they  found  the  rea- 
son written  upon  it.  Maude  and  her  father  had  gone 

home  together. 

****** 

Arthur  ordered  the  removal  of  the  bodies  to  L— 
for  burial.  Nothing  had  been  seen  or  heard  of 
Maude's  husband.  On  the  fourth  day  after  Arthur 
and  Meg  had  left  their  home  to  go  to  Maude,  the 
funeral  took  place.  The  services  were  held  in  the 
home  Church,  the  pastor  officiating. 

Side  by  side  with  her  father,  in  the  very  place 
where  she  had  stood,  ten  years  before,  a  proud,  beau 
tiful  bride,  Maude  now  lay  in  her  white  casket, 
pale  and  cold  and  lifeless,  a  mere  wreck  of  former 
beauty. 


392  MEGDA. 


"  Restless  we  walk  in  Life's  rich  garments  drest, 
Death  brings  a  robe  of  plainness,  filled  with  rest." 

As  the  funeral  cortege  moved  slowly  through  the 
beautiful,  tree-lined  avenue  that  led  to  the  Leonard 
family  burying-ground,  a  miserable,  repulsive-looking 
man,  greatly  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  staggered 
along  by  the  side  of  the  hearse,  and  kept  beside  it 
until  it  stopped  at  the  open  vault.  Mr.  Stanley 
stepped  from  his  carriage,  and  the  man  reeled  up  to 
him. 

"Look  here,"  he  began,  with  a  miserable  attempt 
at  a  swagger,  when  Arthur  put  his  hand  out  and  took 
hold  of  his  arm. 

He  knew  him  in  a  moment,  changed  as  he  was  from 
the  elegant  Mr.  Agustus  Belmont  of  ten  years  ago. 

"Do  not  try  to  talk  with  me  here,"  said  Arthur  in 
a  low,  firm  voice,  which  the  man  instinctively  felt  was 
to  be  obeyed.  "  I  will  take  you  home  with  me  in  a 
few  moments,  but  I  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  you 
now.  Get  into  the  carriage  and  be  quiet." 

Arthur  felt  that  it  would  be  better  to  keep  the  man 
out  of  sight ;  it  would  do  no  good  to  try  to  explain  to 
him  any  of  the  circumstances ;  the  poor  wretch  would 
only  deepen  the  disgrace  still  more,  that  he  had 
brought  upon  his  dead  wife. 

Arthur  opened  the  carriage  door,  and  thrust  the 


AFTER    YEARS.  393 


man  in.  He  made  no  attempt  to  get  out,  and  when 
Arthur  entered  the  carriage,  after  the  last  sad  rites 
had  been  performed,  he  saw  the  reason. 

He  lay  asleep  with  his  head  on  one  of  the  seats,  his 
feet  on  the  other.  Arthur  could  scarcely  repress 
a  shiver  of  disgust  as  he  took  his  seat  beside  the 
man. 

The  disgust  deepened  into  something  worse,  when, 
after  an  hour's  serious  talk  with  the  man  in  his  study, 
during  which  he  showed  not  the  faintest  sign  of  grief 
over  his  wife's  death,  Arthur  put  the  question  of  his 
child's  welfare  to  him.  With  an  oath  the  unnatural 
father  said :  "  I  don't  care  for  the  brat  so  long  as  it  is 
kept  out  of  my  sight.  You  may  have  her,  and  wel- 
come," he  said  coarsely.  "Only  you'll  have  to  give 
me  money  enough  to  keep  me  for  a  while,  at  any 
rate." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ? "  asked  Arthur,  wholly 
unable  to  keep  the  contempt  he  felt  out  of  his  face 
and  voice. 

"  Oh,  fifty  dollars  will  do.  She's  not  worth  it,  but 
I  may  as  well  get  what  I  can  out  of  her." 

Without  another  word,  Arthur  drew  up  the  papers, 
and  sent  for  Elsie's  husband,  now  Lawyer  Duncan,  as 
witness  to  the  contract. 

Grasping  the  bills  greedily  with  one  hand,  Augustus 


394  MEGDA. 

Belmont  with  the  other,  signed  away  his  motherless 
child. 

They  let  him  go  from  them  with  scarcely  a  feeling 
of  regret. 

In  her  adopted  home,  with  a  loving  father  and 
mother,  dear  little  sister  and  brother,  let  us  leave  the 
child  Maude,  nor  look  upon  her  again  until  years 
have  passed  over  her  head. 

And  now  let  me  say,  that,  having  made  her  peace 
with  Maude,  and  returning  good  for  evil  indeed,  Meg 
felt  more  satisfied  with  herself  than  she  had  ever  felt 
before  in  her  life.  There  had  always  been  a  feeling 
of  something  undone,  that  should  be  done ;  she  could 
never  tell  what  it  was,  but  now  she  knew.  It  taught 
her  a  good  lesson,  for  she  never  knew  before  the 
blessedness  of  "returning  good  for  evil".  God  surely 
rewarded  her  in  the  years  that  followed.  Her  life 
was  filled  up  with  work  —  noble  work  —  in  her  home 
and  in  the  world  outside.  Beloved  by  everybody, 
with  a  tender,  loving  husband  to  guide  and  protect 
her,  Meg's  heart  was  filled  full  of  gratitude  to  her 
Heavenly  Father,  and  with  tender  pity  for  all  His 
suffering  children. 

Verily,  He  doeth  all  things  well,  and  maketh  all 
things  to  come  right  in  His  own  good  time. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON.    J 

A  Wedding  in  War-Time.     By  REV.   EMORY  J. 

HAYNES,   D.D.      Author  of   "Dollars   and   Duty," 
"Are  These  Things  So?  "  etc.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

The  volume  is  marked  with  its 
author's  well-known  brilliancy  of 
description  and  vigor  of  imagi- 
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tense excitement  and  incident  of 
the  war.  It  is  not  only  a  story 
of  love  and  marriage,  but  of 
heroic  sacrifice  that  should  stir 
young  men  and  women  to  make 
the  most  of  themselves. 

"Mr.  Haynes  is  one  of  our 
most  popular  and  practical  cler- 
gymen."— Journal  of  Education 
Boston. 

"The    brilliant    preacher    of 
Tremont  Temple  is  equally  suc- 
cessful with  his  books  as  with  his 
sermons." — Zion's  Herald^  Boston. 

A  Pilgrim  Family  (Story  of),    By  REV.  JOHN  ALIDEN, 
Octavo.     Fully  illustrated. 
Cloth,  $3.00.     Library,  half 
morocco,  gilt  edges,  $4.00. 

The  author  of  this  portly  vol- 
ume writes  not  merely  for  his 
friends,  but  for  the  wide  circle  of 
people  who  honor  the  memory  of 
his  ancestor  of  Mayflower  Fame. 
Part  third  is  devoted  to  the  history 
of  the  Alden  family  from  the  found- 
ing of  the  Plymouth  Colony  down 
to  the  present. 

Aunt  Sally  and  the  Amale- 

kites,     Per  dozen,  15  cts. 
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ANDREWS,  REV,  1MEBSON, 
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a  book  for  hours  of  religious  devotion,  and  will  give  the  reader 
inspiration  and  instruction. 

Beyond.      By    HERVEY    NEWTON.      Elegant   square 
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A  presentation  of  the  known  facts  of  the  conditions,  occupa- 
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We  can  best  describe  its  character  by  an 

EXTRACT  FROM  THE  PREFACE. 

The  pictures  and  descriptions  given  by  Revelation  of  the  coun- 
try "  Beyond,"  are  full  enough  to  show  it  superior  to  the  most  fav- 
ored bits  of  Eden  of  which  this  world  knows.  A  real  land,  with 
homes,  music,  personal  recognition,  freedom  from  sorrow  and 
from  sin,  the  society  of  the  Lord  himself.  They  show  the  life 
there  to  have  many  of  the  conditions  and  pleasures  that  give  this 


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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE%  BOSTON,    j 

world  its  chief  charm,  with  none  of  the  infirmities,  and  with  many 
added  enjoyable  conditions. 

An  author  widely  known  in  the  Old  World  and  the  New,  says: 
'•  Those  who  doubt  the  recognition  of  friends  in  heaven  should 
read  '  BEYOND  '  I  Those  who  do  not  doubt,  but  want  confirma- 
tion of  their  belief  should  read  '  BEYOND ' !  I  Those  who  mourn 
dear  ones  gone  before,  and  long  for  a  realizing  sense  of  the  joys 
and  occupations  of  the  departed  should  read  '  BEYOND  Ml! 
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clearness,  purity  and  brilliancy.  It  is  a  book  of  fervent  devotion, 
of  holy  love,  and  of  the  comfort  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

"  Its  pages  do  for  the  reader  what  the  pen  pictures  of  travelers 
in  the  East  do  for  people  at  home." — Central  Baptist,  St.  Louis. 

"  The  book  is  excellent,  and  will  help  the  Christian  citizen  on 
his  way  to  his  new  country," — The  Evangelist,  New  York. 

"  Devoutly  and  impressively  written  and  will  afford  rich  subjects 
for  meditations."  Ziorfs  Herald,  Boston. 

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presentation  of  Gospel  truth  is  most  likely  to  be  blessed  of  God, 
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and  experiences  on  the  part  of  these 
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"'Boston  Girls  at  Home  and 
Abroad'  is  a  book  of  great  interest 
and  of  a  high  moral  tone."  —  Woman's 
Journal,  Boston. 

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"Mrs.  Wilder  is  a  contributor  to 
several  prominent  publications,  and  her  book  is  of  great  interest." 
—  Lawrence  Daily  American. 

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Boston  Herald. 

"A  book  that  leads  one  across  the  Atlantic,  to  holidays  in 
Germany,  ought  to  be  charming,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  in  the 
treatment  of  Mrs.  Wilder's  pen."  — •  From  Hezekiah  Butterworth, 
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Wilton  (Me.)  Record. 


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Bible  Teachings  from  Nature.  By  REV.  J.  BYINGTON 
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The  author  has  happily  conceived 
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charm  and  grandeur,  the  interpreter 
of  Revelation,  with  its  comfort  for 
human  souls  and  light  for  human  feet. 

"  The  author  writes  like  one  who 
loves  the  Bible,  and  who  finds  in  it 
mines  of  wealth  for  the  intellect  as 
well  as  the  heart."  —  Saratoga  Daily 
Journal. 

"  In  a  charming  manner  Dr.  Smith 
brings  the  beauty  and  wonder  of  earth 
and  sky  to  light  up  the  Word."—;  Jour- 
nal and  Messenger  i  Cincinnati. 

Bible  Studies  and  Life  of  Rev.  George  F,  Pentecost. 
Edited  by  P.  C.  HEADLEY,  under  Mr.  Pentecost's 
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Mr.  Pentecost's  Bible  readings,  are  valuable  to  all  lovers  ol 
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Bringing  in  Sheaves.    By  Rev.  A.  B.  EARLE,  D.  D. 

With  Portrait.     i2mo.     Cloth. 


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io  PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON. 


ions,  a  single  one  of  which  is  believed  to  have  been  the 
of  bringing  twenty  thousand  souls  to  Christ. 

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Charles  Jewett,  Life  and  Recollections.    By  WM.  M. 

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Child  Of  the  Sea  (The).  By  KATHLEEN  M.  SMITH. 
Author  of  "Orphan  Lottie," 
etc.  Elegant  i2mo.  Illus- 
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A  strong,  pure,  fresh  story,  re- 
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the  unity  of  its  parts,  all  of  which 
delight  the  reader  and  inspire  to 
better  living.  The  author's  style  is 
a  model  of  clear,  vigorous,  and  effec- 
tive method. 

Child  Jesus  (The).  By  MRS.  E.  S.  BASS.  Over  100 
illustrations.  Superbly  finished.  Silk  cloth,  gold 
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This  is  the  matchless  story  of  the  childhood  of  Jesus,  crowded 
with  the  touches  and  charms  of  style,  the  illustrations,  incidents, 
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and  heart  of  a  wise  mother  in  unfolding  it  to  her  child. 

Wherever  little  folks  brighten  the  home,  this  delightful  and 
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Charlie  Colson :   The  Drummer  Boy.    By  M.   L. 

Rossvally,  Surgeon,  U.  S.  Army.  Uniform  with 
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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON.  13 

Capital  for  Working  Boys.    A  Book  for  boys  in  any 

condition,  rich  or  poor.  By  Mrs.  JULIA  E.  M'CoN- 
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York. 

"  Characterized  by  the  brilliancy  and  vigor  and  beauty  which 
distinguish  the  public  utterances  of  the  author."—  The  Interior^ 
Chicago* 

"  Written  with  a  grace  and  charm  that  cannot  fatf  to  attract 
attention." — Journal  of  Education,  Boston 

"  Dramatically  and  eloquently  written."— Zfat'x  Herald,  Botton. 

"  We  wish  every  young  man  in  the  country  could  read  this  ad- 
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"  A  charming  book  upon  vital  and  significant  phases  of  our  so- 
cial and  religious  life."—  The  Standard,  Chicago. 

"  The  new  work  by  the  pastor  of  Tremont  Temple  reminds  one 
forcibly  of  a  book  which  was  very  popular  a  quarter  of  a  century 
ago,  entitled  "  Life  in  a  Country  Parsonage,  and  which  wrung 
tears  from  many  an  eye  which  is  old  now.  Its  title,  'Dollais 
and  Duty/  declares  its  character  immediately.  A  young  man, 
the  son  of  a  clergyman,  has  presented  to  him  the  choice  between 
a  princely  fortune  and"  the  ministry  of  God.  He  chooses  the 
latter,  but  it  seems  to  be  a  case  in  which  the  Scriptural  prophecy, 
'  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  all  these  things  shall  be 
added  unto  you,'  is  fulfilled,  as  the  wealth  comes  to  him  with  his 
wife.  The  story  is  charmingly  written,  reminding  one,  in  its  re- 
agious  tone,  and  sharp,  terse  sentences,  of  the  writings  of  the 
late  William  M.  Baker."— Daily  Globe,  Boston. 


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Earle's  Select  Library  for  Sunday  Schools.     Fifty 

i2tno  volumes.  Each  volume  has  from  300  to  500 
pages.  Hand- 
somely bound  in 
fine  cloth.  Over 
18,000  pages.  Il- 
lustrated. 

Brilliant 
array  of  authors: 

ELIZABETH  STUART 
PHELPS, 

WM.  M.  THAYER, 

REV.   DR.  E.  J. 

HAYNES, 

MRS.  PORTER, 

J.  MCNAIR 

WRIGHT, 
MRS.  DAVIS, 

SARAH  DOUDNEY, 
ETC. 


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Dot.    By  ANNIE  LUCAS.    Author  of  "  Nobody's 

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z6  PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON. 

From  Cottage  to  Castle.  The  story  of  Gutenburg, 
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and  developement  of  his  Art.  By  MRS.  E.  C.  PEAR- 
SON. 1 2 mo.  32  illustrations.  Elegantly  bound, 
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told."  Traveller,  Boston. 

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"  Clear  and  comprehensive."    Literary  World. 

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"  Exceedingly  satisfactory."— .fl/rr.  President  Gorfidd. 

God's  Will  Known  and  Done.  By  REV.  ALMON  UN- 
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ling,"  "City  and  Castle,"  etc.    With   twelve  full- 
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An  inimitable  story  of  life  in  the  great  city.  For  its  truthful* 
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EABLE,  A.  B,,  D.  D, 

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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON.  23 

From  Farm  House  to  White  House,  The  life  of  George 
Washington.  By  WM.  M.  THAYER.  Uniform  with 
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From  Boyhood  to  Manhood.  The  life  of  Benjamin 
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sale  of  which  already  exceeds  300,000 
copies. 

"In  Mr.  Thayer's  fascinating  style, 
this  book,  including  latest  and  freshest 
facts,  will  prove  worthy  to  rank  with 
his  '  Lincoln,'  '  Grant,'  and  '  Garfield.' " 
— Journal  and  Messenger,  Cincinnati. 

"Mr.  Thayer  has  rare  talent  for 
winnowing  from  biography  that  which 
is  instructive  and  inspiring.  He  has  a 
style  that  never  leaves  an  uninteresting 
paragraph.  In  Benjamin  Franklin  he 

has  the  richest  of  material,  and  he  has  used  it  most  skilfully." — 

Journal  of  Education,  Boston, 

"  Notwithstanding  the  many  works  on  the  life  of  Washington, 
certain  it  is  that  none  have  been  written  in  a  more  thoroughly 
charming  manner.  There  is  no  boy  of  ordinary  intelligence  who 
cannot  fully  appreciate  it."  —  Baltimore  American. 


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24 PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE>  BOSTON. 

From  Log  Cabin  to  White  House.  By  WM.  M. 
THAYER,  author  "  Tact,  Push,  and  Principle,"  etc. 
Elegant  i2mo,  of  nearly  500  pages.  With  portrait 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garfield,  his  mother,  and  other  illus- 
trations. Gold  and  black  designs.  $1.50. 

This  work  is  the  one  popular  life  of  President  Garfield,  for 
young  and  old,  in  steady  demand. 

"  It  is  because  all  this  is  made  very  clear  in  this  life  of  Presi* 
dent  Garfield,  that  we  predict  for  this  literary  venture  an  im- 
mense success."— London  Literary  World. 

"  I  know  of  nothing  in  the  whole  range  of  Sunday-school  liter- 
ature so  fitted  to  be  helpful  to  our  American  youth  as  '  From 
Log  Cabin  to  White  House.'  "—Warren  Randolph,  D.D.t  Set.  •} 
the  International  3.  S.  Committee. 

From  Pioneer  Home  to  White  House.    The  life  of 

Abraham  Lincoln.  By  WM.  M.  THAYER,  author  of 
'•  Log  Cabin  to  White  House,"  etc.  Elegant  i*mo. 
Illustrated.  Uniform  with  the  other  volumes  of  this 
notable  series.  $1.50. 

The  charm  and  inspiration  of  President  Lincoln's  character, 
portrayed  by  this  popular  writer,  make  this  a  volume  of  special 
value  to  young  and  old. 

From  Tannery  to  the  White  House.    The  Life  and 

Memoirs  of  Gen  U.  S.  Grant — his  boyhood,  man* 
hood,  personal  history,  public  life,  sickness,  and 


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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  ff.  EARLE,  BOSTON.  *5 

death.  By  WM.  M.  THAYER.  Companion  volume 
to  his  famous  family  life  of  Garfield,  "From  Log 
Cabin  to  White  House,"  of  which  over  250,000 
copies  have  already  been  sold.  Elegant  i2mo,  of 
nearly  500  pages.  Illustrated  with  portraits,  scenes, 
and  places.  Fine  cloth,  profusely  ornamented. 
$1.50. 

This  work  supplements  for  family  use,  for  old  and  young,  the 
voluminous  work  by  General  Grant,  which,  with  its  records  of 
his  public  life,  goes  into  tke  libraries,  while  this  is  read  at  the 
fireside. 

11  This  work,  written  in  a  ver>  absorbing  style,  is  an  unfolding 
of  the  entire  lifefof  the  great  General,  from  birth  to  death."  Tkt 
Morning  Start  Boston. 

" '  From  Tannery  to  the  White  House'  is  destined  for  family 
circle  reading,  and  will  doubtless  be  as  popular  as  the  author's 
'Log  Cabin  to  White  House.'"  St.  Paul  (Minn.}  Pioneer 
Press. 

«  Of  Mr.  Thayer's  « Life  of  Garfield '  a  quarter  of  a  million 
copies  have  already  been  sold.  This  volume  will  probably  ex- 
ceed in  popularity  its  predecessors.  Mr.  Thayer's  books  sell 
without  puffing,  requiring  only  a  public  announcement."  Zion's 
fferaJd,  Boston. 


For   Eternity.    By  REV.  A.  B.  EARLE,  D.  D.    32mo, 
Per  dozen,  25  cts;  per  hundred  $1.50. 

A  new  and  searching  appeal  to  prepare  and  work  for  eternity. 


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s8  PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON. 

Little  Ones  in  the  Poldi  i6mo.  Cloth.  50  cts. 
Better  Life  and  How  to  Find  It.  i6mo.  Cloth.  50  cts. 

Hand  Book  of  Eevivals.  By  REV.  H.  C.  FISH,  D.  D., 
author  of  "  History  of  Pulpit  Eloquence,"  etc.  12  mo, 
Cloth,  gilt  and  black.  $1.50. 

A  manual  for  successful  revival  work,— -indications,  hindrances, 
objections,  means  and  methods ;   preaching,  prayer,  and  singing 
evangelists,  inquirers,  converts,  Sunday-schools,  etc.,  etc. 

"  The  best  book  on  revivals,  for  its  specific  uses  as  a  hand* 
book,  we  have  seen.  Wise  in  counsel,  practical  in  aims." — Chris- 
tian Intelligencer^  New  York. 

"  More  complete  and  judicious  than  any  work  hitherto  pro- 
duced on  this  great  subject." — Christian  at  Workt  New  York. 

Harvest  Work  of  the  Holy  Spirit.    By  REV.  P.  G 

HEADLEY,  author  of  "  Women  of  the  Bible,"  etc,  etc, 
i2mo.  Cloth.  $1.00. 

Suggestive  of  revival  methods,  as  illustrated  in  Rev.  E.  P 
Hammond's  labors  in  England,  Scotland,  and  America. 

"The  record  is  one  of  great  interest." — The  Observer.  Neu 
York. 

JIavergal  (Miss  Havergal's)  Story.    Compiled  from 

her  Letters,  Diaries,  and  other  writings,  by  L.  B.  E., 
author  of  "Lessons  of  Trust,"  etc.,  etc.  Elegant 
lamo.  Cloth.  Red  edges.  60  cts. 

Miss  Havergal's  popularity  and  influence,  have  for  their  key, 
fcer  symmetrical  Christian  life  and  character.  This  runs  through 


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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE>  BOSTON.  29 

her  writings,  and  her  public  and  private  work,  like  thread  of 
gold.  This  thread  of  gold  has  b«en  unravelled  from  her  writings 
by  the  author  of  "  Lessons  of  Trust,"  whose  readers  are  numbered 
by  the  hundred  thousand,  and  is  now  presented  to  the  public  by 
itself,  in  all  its  beauty  and  helpfulness. 

His  Opportunity.     By  HENRY  C.  PEARSON,  author  of 

"  Her  Opportunity."    Large  i2mo.    Silk  cloth.    Gold 

and  black,  $1.50. 

The  aggregate  of  these  two  volumes  is  already  well  en  toward 
50,000  copies. 

Touches  with  a  master  hand  the  problems  of  life  to-day.  The 
vigor  of  its  style,  the  skill  of  its  plot,  the  suggestiveness  of  its 
lessons,  suit  it  alike  to  the  cars,  the  seaside,  the  quiet  hour,  and 
the  study,  and  to  every  class  of  readers. 

"  I  have  been  deeply  interested,  both  in  its  plot  and  its  style." 
—  Prof.  Austin  Phelps,  D.D.,  Andover. 

"  The  author's  clear,  vigorous  English  imparts  an  added  charm. 
We  cannot  have  too  many  of  such  books." —  Watchman,  Boston. 

"  The  story  is  strong  and  healthy."  —  Pilgrim  Teacher,  Boston. 

Her  Opportunity.     By  HENRY  C.  PEARSON.     Uniform 
with  "His  Opportunity."    121110.     Silk  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  plot  and  character  of  this  charming  story  are  found  among 
the  young  women  of  to-day  in  their 
new  relations  to  practical  affairs. 
It  is  wise  and  suggestive  in  its 
outlook  for  the  increasing  army  of 
women  knocking  at  the  doors  of 
opportunity  for  self-help. 

"This  companion  volume  to 
"  His  Opportunity  "  is  written  in 
the  same  vigorous  style,  and  the 
plot  interwoven  with  sound  moral 
principles.  It  does  not  belong  to 
the  class  of  religious  books,  al- 
though many  of  the  religious 
;  problems  of  the  day  are  treated 
ifrom  the  highest  standpoint.  It 
is  adapted  to  the  widening  influ- 
ence that  is  leading  young  women  into  a  closer  relationship  with 
more  practical  things  than  they  have  been  accustomed  to.— 
Boston  Daily  Herald, 

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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON.35 

Lessons  Of  Trust.  By  L.  B.  E.,  author  of  "The  Jewel 
Found,"  "  How  I  Found  Jesus,"  etc.  Elegant  i6mo. 
Cloth,  red  edges,  75  cts.  Full  calf,  $2.00. 

Comparatively  few  are  the  authors  who  have  so  large  a  circle 
of  readers.  "  Lessons  of  Trust "  is  marked  by  the  same  clear 
apprehension  of  Spiritual  things,  as  this  author's  other  works, 
and  takes  its  place  with  the  devotional  books  that  are  kept  at 
hand  to  give  comfort  and  direction  in  the  hours  of  trouble,  or 
question,  or  temptation. 

"A  sweet  and  comforting  book." — The 
Advance,  Chicago. 

"  Admirably  adapted  to  help  those  who 
are  inclined  to  look  on  the  dark  side.  Well 
written  and  beautiful  in  form,  a  most  ap- 
propriate gift-book."  —  The  journal  and 
Messenger,  Cincinnati. 

" '  Lessons  of  trust'  is  a  very  handsomely* 
published  religious  gem.  From  significant 
initial  letters, .  we  suppose  the  volume  is 
from  the  pen  of  the  accomplished  and  devout  wife  of  the  pub- 
lisher. It  is  a  delightful  and  profitable  manual  for  hours  of  medi- 
tation."— Zion's  Herald,  Boston. 

Life,  Letters,  and  Wayside  Gleanings.    By  MRS. 

B.   H.   CRANE.    Octavo.      Cloth.     With    Portrait, 

$2.00. 

Mrs.  Crane,  as  the  gifted  wife  of  a  former  prominent  New 
England  pastor,  gives  not  only  the  history  of  a  family  and  a  life, 
but  she  has  interwoven  recollections  of  the  olden  time,  incidents 
and  lessons  of  great  interest  and  value,  in  her  own  matchlesi 
style,  which  is  the  very  soul  of  poetry  itself. 

"A  charming  book  for  the  home  and  fireside."-— 
betton. 


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36  PUB LIC AT  JONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON. 


Light  on  the  Pathway,    By  "  L.  B.  E."  (Mrs.  Earle.) 
Author  of  "Lessons  of  Trust,"  "Miss   Havergal's 
Story,""  How  I    Found  Jesus,'  etc.     i6mo,  uniform 
with  "  Lessons  of  Trust."    Cloth,  red  edges,  75  cts. 
In  this  helpful  volume,  the  author,  in  her  well  known  clear  and 
happy  manner,  gathers  the  light  and  throws  it  on  the  daily  path, 
with  wise  counsel  and  practical  suggestion,  for  the  home  life,  and 
for  individual  need.    It  is  a  book  for  parents,  teachers,  preachers, 
converts,  and  all  who  would  make  the  most  and  best  of  life. 

Life-Line  Songs,     By  REV.  E.  S.  UFFORD.     Octavo. 

Words  and  music,  10  cts.     $1.00  per  dozen. 

This  collection  of  religious  songs  for  Gospel  meetings,  Y.  M.  C» 
A.  conventions,  etc.,  includes  the  charming  and  popular  song, 
"Throw  Out  the  Life-line,"  of  which  Mr.  Ufford  is  the  author. 

Log  Cabin  to  White  House  Series,    These  volumes, 
designed  especially  for  young  men  and  women,  boys 

and  girls,  but 
alike  fascinat- 
ing to  all  ages 
and  classes, 
have  reached 
an  aggregate 
sale  of  nearly 

500,000  COPIES. 
Eight  i  2  m  o 
volumes  uni- 


COTTACF||f0rmly 

CASTLE  II  s  u  m  p  tuously 
bound  in  fine 
cloth  ;  embel- 
lished in  gold 
and  colors.  In 
a  neat  box, 
$11.25. 


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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON.  41 

*  Its  comments  are  everywhere  full  of  the  marrow  of  the  Gos- 
pel." Congregationalism  Boston. 

"  Convenient  in  size,  elegantly  printed,  rich  in  comments,  and 
admirably  adapted  to  the  purpose."  Evangel,  San  Francisco. 

"No  Christian  reader  could  make  this  volume  the  guide  of  his 
daily  morning  devotions,  I  feel  sure,  without  adding  largely  to 
his  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures,  and  advancing  in  his  soul  the 
culture  of  all  the  Christian  graces."  Rev.  A.  L.  Stone,  D.D. 

Mother  Munroe:  or,  The  Shining  Path.  By  MRS. 
MARY  D.  JAMES.  i6mo.  Cloth,  red  edges.  With 
Portrait.  75  cts. 

**  Perfect  trust  and  perfect  rest  seemed  the  sole  tenants  of  her 
heart."  Pres.  Wm.  F.  Warren,  D.D. 

Must  the  Old  Testament  Go  ?    By  REV.  w.  F.  CRAFTS, 

author    of  "Heroes    and    Holidays,"    etc.     i6mo. 
Price  reduced.     Paper,  15  cts.     Silk  cloth,  30  cts. 

"  Adapted  for  a  wide,  popular  reading."  Sunday  School  Times? 
Philadelphia. 

"  The  absurdities  of  the  new  unbelief  are  sharply  put  and 
clearly  exposed."  Sunday  School  Journal,  New  York. 

"  It  is  within  reach  of  all,  and  is  worth  ten  times  its  cost." 
Christian  Mirror  (  Congregationalist),  Portland. 

Madonna  Hall.  The  fearless,  fascinating  story  of  our 
country's  peril.  By  EMILY  CLEMENS  PEARSON. 
Author  of  "Cottage  to  Castle,"  "Prince  Paul," 
"Our  Parish,"  "The  Poor  White,"  "Ruth's  Sac- 
rifice," etc. 

Madonna  Hall  is  the  attractive  title  of  a  story  of  interest  and 
power,  but  underneath  its  brilliant  story  are  the  mutterings  of  a 

Any  Book  mailed  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 


42  PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  H.  EARLE,  BOSTON. 

volcano,  likely  to  make  itself  heard.from  one  end  of  the  land  to 
the  other.  It  deals  with  perhaps  the  most  dangerous,  difficult, 
and  threatening  problem  now  confront- 
ing this  people ;  and  does  it  in  the  most 
skilful  and  effective  style  of  fiction. 

"  Fascinating,  strong,  and  terrible  in 
its  revelation  of  iniquity,  this  story  of 
Roman  Catholicism  as  it  is  to-day  will 
stir  this  great  country."  —  Methodist 
Home  Journal,  Philadelphia. 

"  Madonna  Hall  may  yet  be  as  great 
an  impetus  to  the  downfall  of  the 
Romish  system  in  America  as  was 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin '  in  affecting  the 
overthrow  of  slavery." — The  Tran- 
script, Lynn,  Mass. 

" '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin '  was  a  legiti- 
mate argument  against  slavery.  '  Ma- 
donna Hall'  is  legitimate  argument 

against  Jesuitism;  its  arraignment  in  America  is  terrible. — Rev. 

/.  W.  Wellman,  D.D. 

Mike  Donovan ;  or,  the  Order  of  Jesus  Christ,  32m°- 
Per  dozen,  15  cts.  Per  hundred,  $1.00. 

One  of  the  Waifs,  A  touching  story  of  one  of  Boston's 
poor.  Per  dozen,  15  cts.  Per  hundred,  $1.00. 

Our  Flag  Half  Mast,  A  poem.  By  WM.  M.  THAYER. 
Author  of  Lives  of  Grant,  Lincoln,  "  Log  Cabin  to 
White  House,"  etc.  Superb  12010.  Illustrated  by 
John  Andrew  &  Son.  $1.00. 

Mr.  Thayer,  whose  biographies  of  the  leaders  in  our  civil  war 
have  reached  nearly  half  a  million  copies,  writes  this  volume  in 
melodious  verse,  in  honor  of  the  boys  in  blue,  and  dedicates  it  to 
the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic. 

Patchwork  Quilt,  By  an  Army  Chaplain.  32010.  Per 
dozen,  15  cts. ;  per  hundred,  $1.00. 


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PUBLICATIONS  OF  JAMES  If.  EARLE,  BOSTON.  Ji 

Sunday  Travel.  By  MRS.  JAMES  H.  EARLE.  Com- 
panion booklet  to  "  Sunday  Newspapers,"  and  a 
forcible  presentation  of  this  growing  evil.  Pet 
dozen,  20  cts.  Per  hundred,  for  general  distribu- 
tion, $1.00. 

Tact,  Push  and  Principle.  By  WILLIAM  M.  THAYER, 
author  of  "From  Log  Cabin  to  White  House." 
i2mo.  Silk  cloth.  Bevelled.  With  10  full  page 
illustrations.  $1750. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  practical,  inspiring  books  of  the  cen- 
tury, for  readers  of  every  age  and  class,  on  the  means  and 
methods  of  making  the  most  and  best  of  one's  self  and  one's  op- 
portunities, and  winning  success. 

The  publisher  celebrated  the  twentieth  edition  by  printing  6000 
copies  of  that  edition. 

"  It  is  a  noble  book,  and  furnishes  the  key  to  rich  mines  of 
wealth,  both  spiritual  and  material."—  Journal  of  Education,  Bos- 
ton. 


Worth  its  weight  in  gold."—  Belfast  Witness. 


"  It  is  a  book  of  sound  ideas  on  the  conduct  of  life."  —  Indepen- 
dent, N.  Y. 

"  It  is  a  powerful  book."  —  Journal  and  Messenger^  Cincinnati. 

"  Full  of  sound  common  sense."  —  The  Congregationalistt  Boi- 
ton. 

Talk  (A)  with  an  Inquirer  about  God's  Idea  of  Sin 
and  Way  of  Pardon,  By  Miss  FRANCES  E.  WILL- 
ARD.  3  2  mo.  Per  dozen.  25  cts.  Per  hundred, 


Any  Book  mailed  postpaid  on  receipt  o 


